The Conquest of Westeros
by Unusual Dispentry
Summary: Unwillingly torn from their beloved Empire by a scheming elven goddess, Emperor Karl Franz I and the remnants of his battered Imperial force found themselves stranded on a world yet untouched by the foul grip of Chaos. While the new lands seem peaceful at first, the sons of the Heldenhammer would soon find to their dismay that corruption and strife lurks in Westeros all the same.
1. A Concentrated Effort

**KARL FRANZ**

It was the dead of night, in the twilight hours of autumn. Within moments, it would be Kaldezeit — Chill Month. Indeed, the temperature was below zero, and would stay so well after Mitterfruhl.

In a massive Imperial war camp near the outskirts of Hergig in the province of Hochland, Karl Franz von Holswig-Schliestein — the current elected ruler of the Empire of Man — sat alone in his tent in the middle of camp, his gaze levelled at a letter he had in his hand.

The missive was stamped with the seal of Ostland, and emblazoned with the personal markings of that province's elector count, Valmir von Raukov. Franz had lost count of how many times he had already gone through the letter, but for some reason, he couldn't find it in himself to put it down to focus on more important matters, as if reading it any further would somehow grant him better odds of success against the foes he and his army had no choice but to throw themselves against very soon.

 _Your Imperial Majesty,_ it read in von Raukov's atrocious attempt at handwriting in simple Reikspiel. _It is as I feared, and more. Tzarina Katarina has failed in her defence of her nation and the Everchosen's forces marches onward virtually unopposed. Though our northern allies fought valiantly, Kislev is no more._

Those simple words still set Franz's mouth grimacing while his gut churned in the most uncomfortable of manners.

 _As I write this afternoon, hundreds upon thousands of ragged, wild-eyed Kislevites came marching through the villages around Wolfenburg. Some came for refuge, but most just wanted to get out of Ostland as quickly as their tired legs would allow. With them, they brought word of plate-armoured Norscans riding atop daemonic destriers, killing any who stood in their way while defiling the very earth around them with their corrupting magics. They tell of how the tzarina tried to make a stand at Volksgrad, but to no avail. She is presumed dead along with most of her armies._

Franz set the letter back down on his table and reached for a nearby tankard of vintage Grenzstadter wine, stamped fifty Imperial years ago. As the Averlander drink slithered down his throat, the emperor felt his resolve strengthened despite the sudden dimming of his senses. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he picked up von Raukov's letter and continued where he left off.

 _My observers and scouts tell me it is only a matter of time before Archaon and his minions would reach Wolfenburg, and indeed, a large warband led by a sorcerer of Tzeentch was recently spotted heading for the Ostland-Kislev border, accompanied by multiple brayherds. Without assistance, my emperor, the province would surely fall to the Warriors of Chaos. Sigmar willing, I write in hopes that_ —

"My lord." A low, scratchy voice called out from beyond the emperor's tent, startling him from his groggy state of mind. "There is an urgent matter we need to discuss."

Franz recognised his chief bodyguard's distinctive rasping tenor. He seldom talked, but when he did, those in his vicinity could feel the palpable weight of his words. "Knights," He called out to the Reiksguard sentries watching over the entrance to his tent. "Let the man pass."

When the knights gestured him through, it took Ludwig Schwarzhelm only a moment to cast aside the tent flaps and cross the distance between himself and his charge.

"Your imperial majesty." The man bowed before his emperor — his liege.

Schwarzhelm was Franz's white-bearded, stern-faced servant, the current Emperor's Champion. He sported a plain, spartan-looking suit of full plate armour and wielded to battle an enchanted longsword studded with dwarf runes. He towered over almost every state trooper in the Imperial State Army at the impressive height of six feet and five inches, and it was oft-spoken by the courtiers at Altdorf that the only people who could face Schwarzhelm at eye-level was Elector Count Boris Todbringer, who stood at the same height, Reikmarshal Kurt Helborg, who was only half an inch shorter, and the emperor himself, who stood just three inches short of seven feet outside his suit of gromril plate.

"Rise," Karl Franz, in his usual severe manner, gestured for his champion to stand, and he did so. "Speak, then."

Schwarzhelm knew Franz favoured directness and blunt honesty during conversations. "A lone wood elven archer approached our guards at the camp entrance... evidently one of the infamous waystalkers from the forest of Loren. When questioned, she spoke very little, but she did mention having been sent by the Mage-Queen Ariel herself, and made a request to meet you in person."

At that, Franz couldn't stop raising a brow in curiosity and mild surprise. It was not normal for the forest folk of Athel Loren to send emissaries to emperors, and the fact that Ariel sent a single waystalker instead of a proper diplomatic envoy unnerved him more than he cared to admit. Indeed, it was rumoured that waystalkers double as assassins whenever they weren't standing guard over wood elf territory. While the emperor saw very little reason for the mage-queen to see him as a threat to be removed, one can never truly know with the asrai — the name they called themselves. The fact that he actively tried to cultivate good relations with them over the course of his reign notwithstanding.

"Where is this elf, champion?" Franz dared to ask, looking down at the other man. "I take it she isn't under our soldiers' custody at the moment."

Franz could see Schwarzhelm's jaw shifting in place. "It surprised even me, my lord, when she agreed to cooperate when we asked her to come along with us. As we speak, she waits for you to tend to her in her quarters in the camp."

"Truly?" The emperor frowned. Something was amiss, he could tell it. "Hm, then let us be off. Take me to our... "guest", so I may yet know what the wood elves have in store for the Empire."

Schwarzhelm nodded, and before long, the emperor was led to the waystalker in her supposed location in the camp. When the two men reached the location in question, Franz expressed his surprise to discover that his soldiers apparently took the elf custody inside the noble guest quarters, which was meant to lodge visiting noble-born civilians of the Empire. He then asked his champion why she wasn't taken to one of the barracks around the camp instead, as was appropriate.

"Though our wood elven emissary agreed to come quietly, she did name a few conditions before she did so..." Schwarzhelm supplied, to which the emperor frowned in distaste. "We did not wish to provoke her, your majesty, so we complied."

Franz opened his mouth as if to say something, but quickly closed it as his destination drew ever nearer. With his approach, the knights standing guard outside the highborn quarters stood straight and saluted the emperor as he approached with his champion in tow.

"Unlock the door, knight, I will see to our wood elven visitor now." Franz declared to the most senior of the plate-armoured soldiers. "Remain here and do not interrupt without my word."

"Your majesty?" The knight-captain seemed surprised with the way his shadowed eyes widened beneath his armoured visor. "Are you sure? I do not think—"

"I will _not_ be questioned by a mere knight." Franz spat. His voice was much lower now, dripping with restrained fury. "Count yourself fortunate I find it wasteful to punish my warriors for insolence. Unlock the door and allow me to perform my duties as emperor."

"Yes..." Though he tried to hide it, the knight subtly cowered before his emperor, who loomed ominously over him by nearly an entire foot despite not being encased in armour. "Of c-course, my liege."

"Come, Schwarzhelm." Franz gestured for his chief bodyguard as the knights unlocked the door and he entered the waystalker's quarters. The Emperor's Champion uttered nothing and obeyed, moving along closely behind his charge.

Inside, after a bit of navigating through the unusually spacious interiors of the room, Franz found the elf in front of a mirrored desk, leaning slightly forward with her gloved palms on the desk's wooden surface. She was dressed predominantly in dark grey hues, highlighted with brown and white.

"You wished for my presence, waystalker. Speak, I am here now."

The emperor tried to sound as welcoming as possible. The wood elves had neither been as eager nor cooperative as their more civilised kin from Ulthuan nor the dwarfs under High King Grudgebearer in the war against Chaos, and neither were they the friendliest of people to their imperial neighbours to the north, but Franz figured they at least deserved his respect for the many times they assisted the Empire in eradicating roving beastmen herds, as well as their personal gift to him: the great griffon Deathclaw, as an egg.

The waystalker scoffed as she turned around to face him. "I can see that, short-lifer. Mirrors reflect."

Karl Franz took the typical asrai insult in stride; he had long known it was in their nature to look down on everyone and everything not of the woods. Studying the waystalker more closely, the emperor could immediately tell she was no mere ranger; a camouflaged, hooded outfit made out of white animal furs and hardened leather closely fitted the elf's slender body, hiding very nearly all traces of her skin. A cloth veil decorated with tree bark obscured much of the lower part of her head, and the equipment she carried seemed higher in quality and much more suited to stealth and long-distance bowmanship compared to the ones her kin in the waywatchers took to battle.

Additionally, the elf had her platinum blonde hair tied into a rather elaborate ponytail, restrained by an intricate amber brooch and many ornate bands, and her assoirtment of weapons consisted of a crooked elven shortblade strapped to the small of her back, a matching pair of sheathed swords secured to her sides, a brace of throwing knives strapped to her left upper arm, and finally, a masterfully-crafted, doubtlessly-enchanted longbow with spiked ends slung diagonally across her body.

It was then that the emperor realised this elf did not come to his camp for an assassination... but rather for war. Still, this fact did little to quell his suspicions.

"I do not take kindly to your lingering gaze, human." The elf spoke again, when she ran out of patience for his staring. Her voice was lilting as could be expected from elves, and her Reikspiel was spot-on, if slightly accented. "Look away."

It was Franz's turn to scoff. "I will commit you to memory, elf. Your true intentions here are yet unclear, and I have very little patience for assassins this day."

"Fortunately for you, I did not travel all the way to the misbegotten and foul-smelling lands of Men from the frozen woods of Atylwyth just to kill you." The elf shifted her weight from one foot to another. "That could easily be accomplished half a kilometre away, and as you can see, I am standing here now."

She seemed reluctant to say her next few words. "Ultimately, my intentions can only benefit you and your cause."

The emperor did not believe that for a second, even Schwarzhelm behind him could not resist rolling his eyes. The high elves of Ulthuan were manipulative enough, but the forest folk take subterfuge and misdirection even further. Some would even go on to say that each of the human nations close to Athel Loren existed simply to act as pawns for the wood elven leaders: the mage-queen Ariel and her warrior king, Orion.

"What _are_ your intentions, exactly?" Franz questioned, narrowing his eyes.

The elf crossed her arms across her chest, leaning forward a bit. "The complete opposite of your assassination. For reasons unknown even to me, Queen Ariel has deemed it necessary that you do _live..._ and she has deigned it my sacred duty to keep you from harm by attaching myself to your retinue as your army marches forth to this Ostland of yours."

"You've come to fight Chaos along with us?" Schwarzhelm, who was silent thus far, chose to speak up at that moment. He sounded incredulous.

The waystalker ignored the champion, and looked to Franz instead. "Make no mistake. I care not whether you emerge victorious over the Everchosen's forces in the coming days. My only task is to see to it that you live as the queen demands. Now that my intentions are made clear, will you take me in, human?"

Franz could immediately see the benefits of having a wood elven waystalker in his retinue. Someone like her would be advantageous to have in a heavily forested terrain, and Ostland was infamous for being surrounded by the dense and notoriously unsafe Forest of Shadows. He could have her placed in a high vantage point and use her to eliminate key targets from afar, and while this task could be accomplished easily enough with a sufficiently-skilled marksman with a Hochland long rifle, even a waystalker at her weakest could do it much faster, more accurately, and most importantly, without giving away her position.

Still, Franz did not forget how wood elves operate. The elf was likely to be lying — hiding her true intentions from him and Schwarzhelm with a false one. While it would be tremendously beneficial to accept her help, the emperor reminded himself to keep his guard up at all times while in the company of the enigmatic waystalker.

"Very well, elf." The emperor nodded. He kept his eyes focused on the waystalker, examining her for a reaction. He got none.

"Then we have nothing more to speak about." The elf finally said, after a moment of silence.

Karl Franz and his champion observed as the elf strode past them and disappear as if she was never in the area. When the two of them left the room and Franz questioned the knights standing guard outside, he was not surprised in the least when they reported not having seen the waystalker leave.

"Why were you so quick to accept her aid?" Schwarzhelm had asked of Franz before the emperor could return to his tent. "I do not trust the waystalker, if you don't mind hearing me, sire. Her kind thrives on subtlety and deceit; it is unlike them to assist anyone from outside their realm without any ulterior motives in mind. Surely you see this, my lord."

"Of course I do," Franz snorted in disdain. "She is more insolent than a Marienburger deep in his cups, and _that_ should be more than enough reason to send her back to Athel Loren with a blade through her gullet... or at least without her tongue. However, do not be so quick to forget the times we live in, Schwarzhelm. This is the End Times, and I shan't turn away potential allies in the face of prospects as grave as Archaon's invasion."

He turned around, to make for his tent, when he stopped to look over his shoulder at the champion for one final time.

"While Ariel's ilk have proven themselves time and time again that their interests, allies and enemies shift much like the Eight Winds, surely they must also see that disunity weakens them just as it does us. The dark gods would not be very cordial when the time comes for their champion to burn their damnable forest to the ground after he is finished with us."

"I certainly hope time proves you right, your majesty." Schwarzhelm bowed again as the emperor took his leave.

The rest of the night passed without incident. By the time Franz vacated his tent, refreshed and already equipped in his full battlefield armour, weapons and regalia, the Imperial State Army was already on the move.

Amidst shouts and thousands of voices talking at once, state troops and mounted knights hailing from all over the provinces marched along the paths, carrying their weapons and clad in their plates and chainmail. Carriages loaded to the brim with supplies from the Marienburg, Wissenland, Middenland and Reikland were being hurriedly unpacked by imperial quartermasters and their assistants, their cargo distributed along columns of unequipped soldiers that stretched as far as the eye could see. Battle wizards gathered as they meditated and channelled the winds for one last time, and artillery pieces were in the process of being dismantled for easy transport. Most notably, Altdorf's own steam tank could be seen being repaired of the damages it took while defending Wissenland from greenskin raiders; to the side of its hull, the name _Feuerlanze_ was inscribed in stylised Reikspiel.

"Did you have a pleasant night's rest, your majesty?" One of Franz's Reiksguard escorts ambled up behind his emperor, along with six others from his knightly order.

Karl Franz inhaled a lungful of air. When he let out his breath, it steamed in the cold morning air.

He turned to his side to face the knight. "Well enough, captain. Come, we have a long day ahead of us."

The emperor paused only to adjust his golden lionhead shoulderguard before heading off to confer with his generals and retainers in the meeting hall at the centre of camp, accompanied by his retinue.

"Greetings, short-lifer." To his chagrin, it did not take long for Franz to be accosted by a familiar sight in dark grey leathers.

The emperor sighed to himself as the waystalker from the night before appeared from seemingly nowhere and started walking in step with him and his escorts. Most of Franz's Reiksguard bodyguards seemed wary at first at the elf's presence, but seeing their emperor's apparent apathy was enough to set them at an awkward ease.

"Wolfenburg is near, but there will still be a great deal of marching ahead," Franz spoke up, after a long period of walking in silence. "Might you need to be supplied with one of our warhorses, waystalker?"

Of course, Franz knew she must be hiding her mount somewhere in the camp. Travelling from Athel Loren to Hochland on foot was a feat not meant to be achieved by mortals, what with the sheer amount of dangers present on the roads and the forests in the dark times they were in. Sooner or later, anyone travelling the roads by themselves would end up with a bandit's arrow in their throat... or worse, a beastman's axe through their skull.

The waystalker scoffed at his offer, as Franz expected. "A horse trained by humans can hardly be trusted upon in the battlefield, and as a matter of fact, I already have my own beast to ride on, thank you very much."

"Oh?" Franz feigned interest. He was more focused on navigating the sea of soldiers before him. "And where could this 'superior' wood elven mount of yours be?"

"Look up." The elf simply replied.

The emperor merely grunted and continued marching. Some members of his retinue, however, were too curious for their own good. Most were shocked and surprised when, upon looking up as the elf instructed, beheld a gigantic bird of prey, its winter plumage a bone-like white, spotted with a peculiar dark brown pattern. It swooped by the oblivious state troopers scurrying below it before disappearing behind the grey clouds.

"Slaanesh's balls." One of the Reiksguards exclaimed, low enough so as to not be heard by a passing group of Sigmarite warrior priests. "What're the knife-ears been feeding those birds? It's huge!"

"Get back in formation and stop gawking, you idiots!" Another shouted, his throaty voice made more intimidating thanks to his plumed helm's reverb. "Sigmar knows what you cowardly lot would do when facing one of those things in battle!"

The emperor grumbled inaudibly. With luck, he thought, his army would reach Wolfenburg soon. Ostland depended on his men and his leadership.

 **ELOISE**

"Wolfhard."

He stirred in his sleep, but otherwise remained out cold on the grass, snoring loudly in a fetal position.

"Wolfhard." She repeated, prodding the brim of his hat with the tip of her rapier.

"...mhrm, go 'way." He mumbled unconsciously.

"Wolfhard!" She lost it, snapping at him. When he still failed to respond, she struck the flat of her blade against his neck.

Wolfhard Richter, a Sigmarite templar from the woodland province of Talabecland, sprang from his sleep and scrambled back on his feet as if the ground was on fire. Richter was a grey-eyed, clean-shaven man in his mid twenties, with curled and messy hair the colour of treebark underneath his tall, wide-brimmed witch hunter hat. His garb was typical of his Order, consisting of a dark brown longcoat, a sturdy pair of travelling boots with twin daggers attached to the side of each boot, steel-tipped leather gloves, and a cuirass breastplate fastened to protect his torso back to front.

A little more uniquely, however, Wolfhard also carried several belts, bandoliers and pouches all over his body and under his coat, which bore colourful alchemical flasks, powder and shot for firearms, a dozen blessed stakes intended for members of the Midnight Aristocracy, a truly dizzying array of identical flintlock pistols, a plain longsword in its sheath, as well as his most preferred weapon: a multi-barrelled, lengthened repeater handgun commissioned from Nuln.

Eloise von Mannstedt, another witch hunter from the heart of Reikland, glared at her colleague in a most unladylike manner. As for Eloise, she had a sun-kissed complexion and striking eyes the colour of sapphire. Underneath her own hat, which resembled a sailor's tricorne emblazoned with the Twin-Tailed Comet, she wore her wavy hair short, and it looked as dark and glossy as a raven's plumage. Her outfit resembled Wolfhard's, but she also possessed a spyglass, several Sigmarite tomes of varying thickness, and considerably more protection in the form of segmented plate shoulderpads and kneeguards, with chainmail padding for her longcoat.

Compared to the other witch hunter, Eloise much preferred to fight her battles more personally. She carried a gilded rapier engraved with the symbols of her noble house in her gloved hand, an arming sword made by an elven blacksmith in Talabheim swayed from its sheath by her side, and across her body hung a brace of flintlock pistols and concussive grenades.

"Volkmar's teeth!" Wolfhard rubbed his bruised neck with one gloved hand and did the same with his eyes with the other. "What—"

"It's konistag, you slothful blighter!" Eloise all but screamed. "Have you gone and lost your bloody mind? Karl Franz's army draws near, and I can't risk you making us both look like incompetent fools in front of the emperor!"

He frowned, looking annoyed and still half-asleep. "You all but worship the emperor, yes, I get it... you already made that abundantly clear while deep in your cups last bezahltag. You _do_ know Franz is married with two children, right?"

She felt her cheeks flush scarlet despite herself. "I'm not in the mood for this, Wolfhard. Don't make me shoot you."

The witch hunter brushed off the threat and leaned forward, studying the witch huntress with a keen eye. "Did you cut your hair while I was asleep?" Before she could answer, he edged closer and heaved a great lungful of her. "That smell... hrm, however did you manage to get your hands on Tilean perfume? One flask is almost worth an entire month's wage this time of the year, I heard."

Eloise let out a groan of frustration and pushed Wolfhard back, to which he laughed in response. "Just shut up and wait for them to arrive. The sooner we can get our mission over with, the sooner I can take my leave of you."

Thus did the two witch hunters stood in place and waited near the beaten path for the emperor's army to pass by. It took half an hour before the first outriders appeared in sight before Eloise's spyglass, and another hour before the army itself arrived. Eloise did not search long before she found the emperor's griffon Deathclaw amongst the throng of state troops and knights, and she quickly presumed Franz would be there, riding atop the noble creature as he often did.

"Ye gods, dear sister. Do try to avoid salivating all over the place." Wolfhard tugged his colleague with his shoulder, smirking.

At this point, the witch huntress had enough. "Alright, just _what_ is the point of all this senseless teasing, Wolfhard?" She put the spyglass away and looked to the man beside her.

"Sigmar help me, yes, I do admit finding Franz most pleasing... and yes, I know I am being extremely foolish and treasonous for thinking so. That is the end of it, and I don't want you bringing it up ever again. I never bring up your drunken ramblings to embarrass you; why can't you do the same for me?"

Wolfhard's smirk slowly faded. There was a look of melancholy to him, but it disappeared within a flash, replaced by the neutral mask of a witch hunter's impassive frown. "As you wish, dear sister."

"Good." Eloise put up a thin, weary smile. Wolfhard's frown deepened, as if he just saw something unnatural.

It was only a few minutes more before the emperor's forces marched close enough. Eloise ran and held up a hand as she hailed the two Reiksguard pointmen riding ahead of the army's main body, while Richter walked close behind her, his arms swaying idly by his side.

"Good day, witch hunters." One of the knights greeted Eloise as she neared in a soft Wissenlander accent. He gently reined in his horse and gestured for his partner to do the same. "If you have information regarding vampires or Chaos cults, you'd best head the way behind us and report your findings to Middenheim. Graf Todbringer, Reikmarshal Helborg or the Ar-Ulric should be eager to receive you."

"We don't have anything noteworthy to report," The witch huntress was quick to respond. "We do, however, have business with Emperor Franz. It is imperative that we are granted an audience with him posthaste. Judgement is coming; our time grows short."

"Yes," The Wissenlander Reiksguard uttered, sadly. "Time grows short indeed. Very well, I ask that you wait here while I inform the emperor of your request."

Emperor Karl Franz von Holswig-Schliestein was quickly informed of the situation and moved ahead of his forces to greet the witch hunters in person, accompanied only by his Reiksguard retinue. Eloise had to hold her breath when she saw his imperial majesty — gallantly riding forth on his great griffon mount with his cape flowing majestically behind, armoured head-to-toe in his baroque, high-collared black gromril plate and beaked greathelm. On his right hand, he wielded Sigmar's own warhammer Ghal Maraz while his symbol of office as the prince elector of Reikland — the zweihander-like Dragon Tooth Runefang — hung in its gilded sheath by his side.

"You stand before your emperor, templars." Franz reined in his mount, causing Deathclaw to halt just in front of the two witch hunters.

Eloise hesitated for a second — more than enough time for Richter to step forward and speak on her behalf. "Your imperial majesty, we bid you Sigmar, Taal and Rhya's blessings during these dark times." He bowed quickly. "I am Wolfhard Richter of Talabecland, and this is my sister, Eloise von Mannstedt of Reikland."

" _Half-_ sister." Eloise tersely corrected, after she recovered herself.

"Very well, witch hunters," The emperor nodded, relaxing on his saddle. He seemed to think on something before speaking, "Hm, I believe I have heard from one of my courtiers of one missing Sigmarite templar whom had gone by the name of Eloise before, of the noble Reikland house von Mannstedt. She was tasked by the Order to seek out and hunt down the sorcerer of Tzeentch, Arnolf Asvaldsson, and was presumed to have been killed along with her entire retinue not long after the fall of Kislev. Tell me, am I looking at her right now?"

"Yes, your imperial majesty. That templar was I." The witch huntress confirmed, nodding. Her face remained impassive, but inwardly, she was saddened he did not recognise her. "I narrowly survived thanks to the intervention of one of the tzarina's hussars, and I continued with my original directives after recovering from the wounds I've sustained while in Kislev. The Order, however, mistakenly believed me dead, and sent Wolfhard here to investigate my trail and finish what I—"

"Enough!" The emperor curtly interrupted, raising a gauntleted hand. "If you are truly the same woman you claim you are, von Mannstedt, you will have no objections to a man of cloth coming to examine you and yours for the taint of Chaos... your half-brother included. Knights, detain these two."

Eloise said nothing and did not resist as the Reiksguard approached and relieved her of her weapons. Wolfhard certainly looked like he was about to protest when it was his turn to be disarmed, but the witch huntress was quick to silence him with another of her glares.

"So, now that I no longer deem you to be a dangerous enough threat," Franz had dismounted Deathclaw earlier, and was now standing right in front of the siblings, towering over both of them in his great height. "Assuming you are truly untainted, what have you to say for me?"

Eloise did not hesitate this time. "We wish to accompany you to Ostland, my lord. We have reason to believe that the same heretic we were tracking down now leads the Chaos warband heading for Wolfenburg after disposing of the previous sorcerer lord in a duel for control. We know much of him who you seek to defend Ostland from; if you would have us, we will be of much use to you and your cause."

Franz seemed to consider the offer, when a ragged call from one of the state troopers behind them rang out. The emperor turned to his side to behold the commotion, giving the two witch hunters a clear view of the silver-haired, grim-faced warrior priest tasked with examining them for signs of the Taint.

"Knights, to your positions!" The emperor called out as he turned back to mount Deathclaw once more. In response, the Reiksguard knights surrounding the siblings took up their arms and held them up in preparation for attack.

Eloise took in a breath of air and armoured herself in her faith, whereupon she waited. The warrior priest circled around them, gauging and staring with his pale green orbs as if he was looking right through them and into their souls. Just when the witch huntress thought she'd have to lean on one of the nearby knights in her impatience, the old man finally drew back and relented.

"I do not sense the dark gods' hold on them, your majesty." He said as he turned back and started walking the way he came. "I believe we have used enough time here. We should return to our journey."

Franz and his knights relaxed in their stance. Above them, Eloise heard a hawk cry out and she instinctively turned to look upward. What she saw made her jaw drop.

It was an elf in dark grey leathers, standing perfectly balanced atop her enormous, bone-white bird of prey while glaring at the witch hunters over the arrow notched in her longbow. The elf and her flying mount lingered in the skies for a brief moment before the former relaxed, placing her drawn arrow back in her quiver. They disappeared behind the clouds within a second then.

"Did everyone just see what I think I just saw?" Wolfhard drawled. "Looks like we have ourselves a leaf-eared tree-lover spying on us."

Karl Franz sighed, looking very weary all the sudden. "The forest folk saw fit to send a waystalker to hound me, witch hunter. She _isn't_ a spy in all likelihood, but I hope we'll be rid of her soon all the same, Sigmar willing."

 **VALMIR**

Elector Count von Raukov was not pleased in the slightest. His outriders report the Chaos warhost approaching his city had just put to torch one of his fiefs; it used to be a wealthy village that dealt in woodcutting, fishing and ironmaking, but now, it was nought but a burning ruin, forever tainted by the foul hold of Chaos.

"Do not despair, my graf." Balthasar Gelt, the current Supreme Patriarch of the Empire, half-heartedly tried to console the count. Gelt, ever since his accident, was covered head-to-toe in shimmering, metallic robes, with a face forever obscured by a face mask completely made out of gold. While the man wasn't as influential nor charismatic as the emperor, Gelt seemed to at least inspire the loyalty of a small retinue of soldiers, mages and retainers, which included a taciturn, purple robed-amethyst wizard, a hulking, broad-shouldered Black Guard of Morr, a veteran Ironside handgunner sergeant, a jaded state trooper captain from Ubersreik, a matronly jade wizard, a knight of the Blazing Sun order, a jovial warrior priest of Ulric, a journeyman bright wizard, and even a long-bearded dwarf giantslayer.

"Franz will soon reach us with an army, and then we can begin cleansing the province of Norscan filth." Gelt had said, confidently. "Once I acquire Asvaldsson's staff, we may yet retake Kislev and bring it back under the tzarina's control... should she still live by the time we do liberate the north, of course."

"Truly?" Von Raukov's foul mood wasn't lifted. He did not trust Gelt. The Gold Order wizard was as unscrupulous as his Marienburger origins suggested, and von Raukov was sure he was in Ostland merely to further his interests and not because he had the province's safety in mind. "I'd be careful with my words if I were you, wizard. A witch hunter might hear you and have you on the pyre for suggesting the use of a heretic's foul weapon."

The supreme patriarch huffed imperiously. "He is certainly welcome to try. I go with Franz's protection, and any slight against me would be considered a slight against the emperor himself. You know what happens to those who slight the emperor, do you, von Raukov? I relieve them of their fleshy forms and make them infinitely less worthless than they were before."

"My patience for this conversation wears thin," The count grumbled, remembering how one light wizard rival of Gelt's met his end — transmuted into a statue made of gold. "The emperor's forces should already be here. I fear something happened to them."

"Patience is rewarded every now and then, my graf." Gelt said, as though lecturing a child. "In fact, I—"

A tremendous profile barged into the room, wielding a silver halberd taller than himself. The Morrite Black Guard knight wore purity seals and weather-beaten human skulls painted grey as part of his jet black obsidian plate and chainmail armour, and his cloak was almost entirely made out of raven feathers and human bones interwoven into one another. Beside him was the state trooper captain, who wielded a zweihander and wore simple chainmail and boiled leather armour with a steel cuirass. Atop his head was an old Empire flat cap with colourful, newer-looking plumes affixed at the upper section.

"My lord," The state trooper began. It took von Raukov a while to realise he was speaking to Gelt, and not him. "Sir Todwunsch and I were patrolling along the southwestern sector beyond Wolfenburg, when we came across outriders belonging to Emperor Franz's force. They said the emperor would arrive within the day, expected to be just after dusk."

"You have my thanks, Captain Kruber." The Supreme Patriarch nodded in the man's direction. "What of our foes, then? Any information about Asvaldsson's forces can prove crucial."

Captain Kruber answered immediately. "Well, I sent Sergeant Kirstein, the warrior priest and the young pyromancer to head over to the Brass Keep to monitor Norscan and beastmen movement in the area. They haven't returned yet, but if their mission went smoothly, they should be back just after the emperor comes. I hope Taal guides them back to Wolfenburg safely."

"All is well, then." Gelt made a dismissive motion with his hand. "You may go and get some rest along with Sir Todwunsch. Find a tavern and tell them I sent you."

"Thank you, sir." Kruber saluted and left, followed by the silent Black Guard.

Count von Raukov sighed. "I hope we have enough men. I'd be a lot more confident if Helborg was here with us instead of out there, killing rat-men in Middenheim with that Valten young fellow."

Gelt chuckled. It was not a pleasant sound. "I'd be careful with my words if I were you, my graf. This talk of rat-men is liable to get you executed by the witch hunters."

Noon passed with little fanfare, at least in Wolfenburg itself. The Ironside sergeant, the Ulrican warrior priest and the bright wizard were expected to return after the emperor's force arrived, but it appeared that Captain Kruber was wrong. The Ironside sergeant arrived at the gates by afternoon, beaten and bloodied, carrying the maimed body of the bright wizard by his shoulders. While the sergeant was questioned as to what happened to their ill-fated mission, von Raukov's healers did their best to salvage the bright wizard's life.

"We had just arrived and our horses were just being taken to the stables, when the northmen and their goat-men allies were suddenly upon the Keep," The Ironside sergeant, von Raukov realised was named Grimwald Kirstein, recalled his journey.

"The keep garrison gave it everything they've got, but it weren't enough. Meinhard was crippled when one of the bastards ran through his bloody flames and hacked off his arm by the elbow, and Arnulf volunteered to stay back and give us a chance to escape. I saw some of the garrison survivors heading west to the open plains, but I also saw the Norscans running after them. I think we're the only ones left alive."

Count von Raukov thanked the sergeant and reminded himself to put the man up for a battlefield commendation for his brave act of relaying crucial information and carrying his wounded comrade back to safety, even if it was too late to salvage the poor wizard's life. Still, he could not suppress the feeling of dread upon hearing news of the Brass Keep's fall.

He wondered if the emperor's efforts were in vain.

 **KARL FRANZ**

 _Where march you, men of Riekland, where carry you halberd and sword..._

Franz gloomily urged Deathclaw onward the beaten path to Wolfenburg. His generals say it won't be long before his force could take refuge in the city itself, but the endless monotony of marching had taken its toll on the men, making them bored. To pass the time and to prevent them from becoming unruly, Ludwig Schwarzhelm suggested to the men that they sing as they march. Being members of a mostly Reiklander force commanded by a Reiklander emperor, the men naturally chose to sing Reiklander hymns... much to the chagrin of state troopers and knights from other provinces.

 _We march to war for our emperor, and Sigmar our saviour and lord... tomorrow we go to war, to face the hordes of Chaos... tomorrow we will be buried, in cold graves that await us..._

By the time Schwarzhelm and several of his captains and bodyguards started pitching in along with the lower ranks, the emperor considered contributing his own voice to the fray. Still, his father's lessons tugged at his mind and reined him in — a leader must always conduct himself with dignity, grace and restraint, as he always said.

 _And when the fighting is done, and the sun goes down at night... hear my prayers, save my soul, and take me to Sigmar's light..._

"How depressing," One of the witch hunters his army picked up earlier, the bored-looking, easygoing young man from Talabecland, dryly chimed in. "Do you Reiklanders have anything a bit more upbeat, or are you all really Wissenlanders in disguise?" It was not the first time during the journey he made such comments.

"By the gods, that is ENOUGH, Wolfhard!" The man's half-sibling, the raven-haired noblewoman from House von Mannstedt, chided him. "You're giving us templars a bad name, _and_ in sight of the emperor and his troops, no less!" The witch huntress guided her courser next to the witch hunter's own horse and had it march in step with his.

Karl Franz watched in subdued amusement as the two witch hunters started arguing with one another, separated only by a thin space between their mounts. Deathclaw also seemed interested at the scene they were making, the great beast tilting his armoured head to the side in curiosity in the siblings' direction even as he carried his master forth.

"They are not typical for witch hunters, aren't they?" Schwarzhelm observed from his demigryph mount. "Should I separate these two, your majesty?"

"Hm-hmh," Franz let a ghost of a smirk linger on his face for a moment before setting his gaze back to the path ahead. The witch hunters reminded him of Luitpold and Sieghilde when they play-fought. In fact, von Mannstedt looked somewhat familiar... as if he had seen her somewhere before...

The emperor shook his head. "No, Schwarzhelm, leave them to their business. Like children, I'm sure they'll tire themselves soon enough."

The afternoon soon gave way to dusk. The journey thus far remained uneventful, and the men soon ran out of hymns from the Reikland to sing. Instead, acting by the warrior priests' suggestion, they all started doing Sigmarite chants to ward away wandering evil spirits in their way. It was by the time the outriders spotted the familiar red-tinged walls of the Brass Keep, however, that the emperor's force ran into trouble.

Franz gave his head a forceful shake to get rid of drowsiness. He turned to look to his side just as a great wind crashed by him and Deathclaw. It was strong enough to force him to shift in his saddle, but not enough to make him recoil.

"Short-lifer!" The hawk-riding elven waystalker appeared again from the darkened skies. Her flying mount swooped in close to the ground, whereupon its rider hopped off and rolled back to her feet in one elegant motion. Once her balance was restored, the elf jogged up before the emperor and his Reiksguard.

"Hm, guten Abend, elf." Franz greeted her, with some disdain. "You seem distressed."

"Your masterful grasp of the obvious surpasses all, human!" She snapped, sounding far angrier than her usual condescending, aloof self. "You must tell your men to prepare to receive battle this instant! Your corrupted kin and their filthy beastmen thralls approach from the north, weapons drawn! It will not be long before they are upon you!"

The emperor saw little reason the elf would lie. He quickly tugged on Deathclaw's reins and had him turn around to face the expectant looks of the men behind.

"Soldiers of the Empire! Sons of Heldenhammer and defenders of righteousness! Stand your ground and HEAR! ME!" He bellowed for all to hear, the mere sound of his baritone war-voice galvanising his soldiers into gear. He pointed skyward, to the north.

"Over the horizon, the dark gods' Norscan slaves and their filthy goat-men pets _dare_ to challenge us! So long as I reign, we shall _not_ be simply swept away by this corrupted tide! By sword and by sorcery, we shall _hold_ our ground!" He held up a gauntleted hand. "With courage and tenacity, we shall strike," He clenched his hand into a fist. "And _drive_ these heretics back like Magnus did before us! By faith and by zeal we will cleanse the Empire's lands from the foul taint of Chaos!"

Franz's men cheered, and sheer force of it was deafening. The emperor himself grunted in grim satisfaction before lifting Ghal Maraz up in the air and declaring, "Form ranks and prepare for war, men! Let no servant of the dark gods leave this battlefield alive! TO BATTLE!"

Another thundering cheer from the men and the knights was made in acknowledgement of the emperor's orders. State troopers and knights scurried back and forth as they scrambled to get into position. Swordsmen, spearmen and halberders took their places at the front along with the steam tank _Feuerlanze_. Handgunners fearlessly marched past the halberdiers while the crossbowmen hid themselves behind the swordsmen's shieldwall. Artillery crews moved their guns along an elevated path while battle wizards prepared their tomes and magic artefacts for use. Impetuous nobles from the pistolier corps sallied forth with their guns pointed to the sky, and what few outriders present went along with them to take the lead, long rifles and cavalry sabres bared.

"And where do you think you're going, waystalker!" Franz heard Wolfhard Richter call out to the elf. The emperor craned his head to look at the latter, finding her in the process of remounting her hawk on the ground.

The elf did not even deign to turn the witch hunter's direction. So great was her hurry to get back into the skies and so chaotic was the state of Franz's force at that moment, that she failed to notice Deathclaw ambling by close to her.

"You mean to start skirmishing ahead of the main battle line, do you, elf?" Karl Franz questioned. He did not wait for her to answer, for he was sure she would give him none. "Go, then. Your queen would be sorely disappointed if her Empire emissary were to be killed, so I advise caution."

"Do not waste your time providing me with false concern, for Lileath protects me. I'll be out of their reach before they come at me with their worst." The waystalker said, but Franz swore she did not sound mocking nor annoyed to his ears, as per usual. He watched as the elf's hawk gave a forceful push upward before taking flight and disappearing into the distant northern skies.

"We may also be able to thin the enemy's ranks before they reach our lines, emperor. Wolfhard and I make for excellent shots." Von Mannstedt suggested to the emperor as she ambled close on her warhorse. "The choice is, of course, up to you."

"Perhaps..." Franz looked to his men as he considered the offer. "Or perhaps not. Richter, take charge of one of the handgunner detachments up front. I believe I'll make the best use of your skills there. As for you, von Mannstedt, you are with Schwarzhelm and myself. We'll ride down the Norscan filth along with the knights."

The templar siblings glanced at each other before separating. By the time Wolfhard disappeared within the sea of soldiers, Franz looked behind him to see Schwarzhelm, von Mannstedt and his knights following close.

"Prepare yourself, old friend." He patted and caressed the side of his mount's armoured head, who responded with a content trill. He looked ahead to the distance, where a thick patch of woodland hid everything under it from view. "Perfect," He reached out with his gauntlet-covered hand and pointed to the area. "Take us there, Deathclaw!"

The imperial griffon was all too eager to obey, and the knights and the witch huntress behind the emperor were compelled to follow. Once they were in position, all that was left for them to do was wait under the shadows, their only other company being the sound of distant gunshots from Empire skirmishers.

"Von Mannstedt," Franz, without turning his head, called for the witch huntress behind him. "I would like to hear of the situation in Kislev now, if you'd please."

He heard von Mannstedt's barded courser trot up to him. "It was almost completely desolate the last time I was there, your majesty. The Everchosen had seen it fit to shift Kislev more to his liking, and heretics, mutants and daemons alike now mark the area as their home. I believe nothing short of a crusade can retake the tzarina's lands from Chaos now, but I believe with help from the dwarfs and the high elves, you may yet stop Archaon in his tracks and avert the End Times... like Magnus did before us, as you've said."

"Only time will tell if I am truly suited to the task of leading such a crusade, templar." The emperor wished he shared von Mannstedt's optimism.

Unlike Karl Franz, Magnus the Pious acted and routed the previous Everchosen's forces well before Kislev was destroyed, and to twist the knife further, Magnus was charismatic enough to unite the provinces for the final battle against Chaos. Franz admitted, to his chagrin, that the entire Wasteland region still considered itself independent from his control, and if rumours were to be believed, the Directorate would like to keep it that way for as long as they could.

Silently, Franz closed his eyes and started praying to Sigmar to give him the strength necessary to see the current battle through. He assured himself he'd worry about the Marienburgers and their petty notions of independence later, when the Norscans and the beastmen lie dead.

"You are the greatest statesman the Empire has ever elected into power, your imperial majesty. Certainly greater than the ones who came before you, and perhaps even greater than Magnus." Von Mannstedt said, and by the breathless way she spoke the words, Franz would've known she meant it... were he not too occupied with mental Sigmarite chanting. "Had you been any less suited to your role after you were elected, the realm would have split itself open through civil wars and petty grievances between the elector counts."

Schwarzhelm tilted his head to the side. "You have much faith in the emperor, do you, templar? Even more than the man himself, I should say."

"The Empire would be lost without faith, champion. In the these dark times, there is no room for doubt in one's superiors." Von Mannstedt respectfully replied.

"On that, I agree." The Emperor's Champion nodded. He tugged the reins on his demigryph mount and turned to face his emperor. "When are we going to make our move, your majesty?"

Karl Franz opened his eyes, his prayer delivered. "Soon, Schwarzhelm... soon."

Far ahead of them, the Empire skirmishers reaped a bloody toll on the approaching Norscan ranks. They reloaded their guns and prepared to fire again, when one of the outriders took one good look through the scope of his Hochland long rifle and immediately realised that the first rank of enemy troops were actually wearing Empire uniforms. To their shock and horror, the men came to the realisation that they had just been shooting at allied soldiers fleeing from the Chaos troops behind them. Before they could do anything more, however, the skirmishers were surprised by ungor raiders attacking them from the shadows of the trees they were foolish enough to take cover in. The skirmishers fought back with their guns and their blades and killed many times their number, but soon, the ungors' sheer persistence and numbers eventually forced them out into the open, where they found themselves hunted by relentless swarms of swooping harpies.

"Rückzug! Pull back, you bloody fools! Get out of there!" The lead outrider fired his pistol into the air to call attention from his men, even as several of them were plucked from their horses and quite literally pieced apart in the skies by vicious harpies. "We've lost too damned much! Return to the main battle line!"

Emperor Franz and his fellows observed in silence as the skirmishers began disentangling themselves from their ungor, norsemen and harpy pursuers. What pitiful few survivors remained urged their horses to run for dear life back to their waiting state trooper comrades behind them.

"We can relieve them and easily turn this fight around, your majesty." One of the Reiksguards suggested in a thick Middenlander accent, his gauntlet already clasped around the handle of his lance. "They won't expect us coming at them from this position."

Deathclaw seemed to like the man's idea by making a shrill sound in agreement, but his master did not agree. "Ulric might frown upon deliberating before a battle, sir knight, but He values victory much more. Stay your blade and wait for my command."

Back in the open field, a gorebull minotaur led the charge against the Empire's troops. With great, breathy roars that steamed in the cold evening air, the beast cleaved fleeing state troops and skirmishers alike in two. It was about to claim another victim it snatched away from the saddle of his horse, when a lucky arrow pierced its right eye in a most gruesome manner, forcing it to drop the pistolier it had in its clutches. The gorebull roared half in rage and half in pain as it reached out to pluck the projectile sticking out of its head, when a second arrow came and impaled its remaining eye, completely blinding it.

While his men openly gaped at such an auspicious turn of events, Franz had a feeling luck had nothing to do with the gorebull's miserable state. Indeed, his suspicions were confirmed when a great, bone-white hawk descended from the skies and swooped by the flailing, screaming, eyeless beast, scourging its exposed neck with deep lacerations with the bird's incredibly sharp talons. As the gorebull fell down to its knees choking on the river of corrupted blood flowing from its ravaged throat, it was finished off by a third arrow that impaled the back of its head. Within a minute, two other minotaurs and a bestigor met with a similar fate in quick succession.

"The elf is making our Huntsmarshal look like an amateur in comparison." Schwarzhelm uttered as he watched, sounding mildly impressed.

"Wulfhart merely had his younger years to hone his craft, champion," A female Reiksguard spoke up. She had a noticeable Bretonnian accent. "Our waystalker most likely had thousands of years to better herself in the ways of the bow."

Von Mannstedt scoffed. "A single gunshot in the right place can wipe away all those years spent in practice. Why bother with bows?"

"I actually agree with that, witch hunter." Another of the Reiksguards nodded. This one sounded like an upper-class Reiklander. "Maybe I'll take up a repeater handgun and serve with the outriders one day. Sigmar knows even us knights in full plate die as quick as everyone else when struck by a well-placed shot."

Franz agreed quietly. Should the End Times ever come to pass, he decided he'd have to reform the Imperial State Army to focus less on knights and more on handgunners, artillery pieces and war machines such as steam tanks. He was not so bold as to declare highly-trained knights in full plate obsolete, but he predicted the future of warfare lied with gunpowder. The emperor wondered what such a future would be like, when he was interrupted by the sound of a Norscan warhorn blowing.

"The great cannons and the helstorm batteries are now firing on the enemy," Schwarzhelm reported, though it was unneeded. Franz could see the effects of his artillery crews' work clearly enough. By now, most of the enemy troops had committed to a frontal assault, with only the ungor archers staying back. "Should we move in to engage, Emperor Franz?"

"In due course, champion." It was almost time. Franz could feel Deathclaw squirm from under him in excitement.

Far ahead in the main Empire battle line, the handgunners faced down the advancing Chaos horde. Some men seemed hesitant and even fewer obviously displayed fear in the face of battle, but none dared to desert their brothers in the heat of battle. When the first of the foes moved past their guns' effective firing range, at the prompting of their sergeants, each handgunner detachment simultaneously unleashed a devastating fusillade of shots, tearing apart the majority of the first mutant and norsemen wave. After quickly refilling their guns with shot and powder, the handgunners once again turned their guns on the enemy, only for a hail of ungor arrows to descend upon them.

Dozens upon dozens of handgunners were riddled with a rain of arrows before they could even fire their guns. Those who survived found that their next barrage of shots only managed to put down a quarter of the second Chaos wave. While disappointed at the damage they dealt, the men did not stay to linger. They packed their guns and did what they can for the wounded before running back, positioning themselves behind the halberdiers.

When the first gors, warhounds and Norscan raiders clashed with the braced Empire halberdier and spearmen line, a great, resounding crash of steel against steel was heard all across the field. A fleeing handgunner died screaming when beastmen warhounds surrounded and knocked him down, took him by each limb and pulled. A Norscan raider plunged his axe against a spearman's shield, only to have his throat impaled by a crossbow bolt before he could retract his weapon. A detachment of halberdiers held back and killed many times their number in gors before being overwhelmed in sheer numbers, and an isolated group of battle-weary harpies were quickly blasted to bits by a fresh squad of handgunners before they could swoop down to attack.

All around the battlefield, blood was spilled from both sides by the gallons. The imperial battle line held with the halberdiers and spearmen keeping the foes at bay while the handgunners and crossbowmen picked their targets from behind the relative safety of their comrades' bodies and shields. Seeing that their forces were not making too much progress at the front, the ungor archers at the back of the enemy line finally put away their bows, drew their axes and clubs, and charged right into the fray.

Franz looked behind his shoulder. Schwarzhelm nodded at him ever so slightly, one mailed hand enclosed on the shaft of the emperor's battle standard, with the other at the reins of his demigryph. Von Mannstedt regarded him with a thin-lipped smile. His Reiksguard gave their salutes, while the others simply looked on to the battlefield ahead.

"Our wait is over!" The emperor cried out, after turning his gaze back to the battlefield. "To me, men! At the walk!"

As one, Karl Franz and his knights and soldiers revealed themselves from the cover of their hiding place... right behind the enemy formation. With a great cry of alarm from one of their leaders, the Norscans and their mutant allies moved to shift their positions to cover their exposed rear flank, only to be quickly bogged down when the swordsmen, whom had spent most of the battle staying back and shielding the crossbowmen from archer fire, suddenly dropped their defensive stance and charged forward, blades drawn.

With his targets occupied and unable to counter his charge, Emperor Franz pulled down his beaked visor over his face and finally issued to order to take the fight to the enemy. "In memory of Empress Kunigunde! TO ARMS, MEN!"

"Myrmidia! Sigmar and Verena! TO GLORY!" Franz heard Schwarzhelm roar as he hoisted the emperor's battle standard in the air.

"Burn the heretic! Kill the mutant!" Von Mannstedt shouted after him, pistol in hand. "Purge the unclean, for judgement is coming!"

"FOR THE EMPEROR!" In unison with one another, the Reiksguard cried out, couching their lances. "AND FOR EMPRESS KUNIGUNDE!"

Enemy archers and crossbowmen scrambled to shoot the charging, emperor-led knights behind them. Their volleys came out sporadically and without precision. Some of Franz's Reiksguards were unfortunate enough to be struck by arrows that pierced their armour or shields, but none were killed. Many other battle-cries were made as the emperor's knights and companions boldly galloped to battle, but as they all reached the point of no return, only one name left their collective mouths.

 **"SIGMAR!"**

It was brutal. Droves of unfortunate Norscans and beastmen alike found themselves on the receiving end of Reiksguard lances and were impaled in the most horrific of manners, while those who were a bit more fortunate were merely trampled underfoot by the warhorses and demigryphs. Such was the sheer amount of bloody carnage and wanton death wrought by Emperor Franz's cavalry force on the enemy, that tiny chunks of Norscan warriors lost heart and made to abandon the field, crying out how the dark gods had abandoned their faithful. The emperor reached out from his saddle and bashed beastmen and Norscan heads left and right with Ghal Maraz, while Deathclaw maimed and slashed apart scores of enemy troops with his rending beak and razor-sharp claws, roaring and screeching all the while. Black blood splattered across his armour and some even spilled inside the slit of his greathelm, but Franz carried on killing regardless, having been completely overtaken by his zeal to kill as many of the Empire's foes as Sigmar allowed him, as well as his desire to avenge the fallen.

When the enemy wisely decided to break ranks and disperse to avoid taking the full brunt of the emperor's righteous wrath, Franz merely freed himself from his saddle and leaped down from his mount in response. With a guttural, incoherent battle-cry on his lips, Karl Franz charged right back into the fray while Deathclaw did much the same in another direction.

"Sigmarite!"

A musclebound Norscan Khornate champion charged the emperor and brought down his battle-axe against him in hopes of splitting him from shoulder to navel. "Khorne demands blood!" He bellowed out a cruel, unhinged bout of laughter. "Hahahaha, BLOOD! _"_

Franz easily parried the crude blow mid-strike with Ghal Maraz's gromril haft and in response, he reared his head back and smashed his opponent's nose flat with a crushing thrust of his beaked greathelm, sending the raider hobbling back, but still chuckling in glee. The Norscan dug in his heel and swung his axe several times to strike back against the emperor, but Franz saw each slow-moving blow coming and avoided them. The Norscan still seemed amused despite this, but he did not look as jolly as before when a stray crossbow bolt shafted him from behind. Franz did not pause, and as his foe reeled forward, he swung Ghal Maraz and smashed it against the man's abdomen, utterly obliterating several of his ribs and sundering his armour. The emperor then pulled back his weapon, turned it around, and impaled the Norscan through the vulnerable area of his plates with the warhammer's curved, spiked end. The northman gasped in surprise, then screamed with unholy laughter when the emperor violently wrenched back his weapon, causing the Norscan's blood to seep out of the new gap in his armour. With a contemptuous scowl, the emperor hoisted his warhammer up in the air and smashed it over the Khornate champion's laughing head, finally silencing him for good.

Franz coldly spared no further thought on his vanquished foe as he wiped the blood splattering his helmet and marched off to seek out the nearest, most important enemy he could find, which did not take overlong. After finding another gorebull snorting and scuffing the grass beneath it in preparation for a charge against a group of battered spearmen, the emperor moved to intercept the creature's path. When he neared his now-charging target, Karl Franz held Ghal Maraz to level with his midsection, and when the time came to strike the unwary foe, he used his gathered momentum and lunged with his entire body, swinging his blessed instrument of death with all the strength his arms could muster.

Ghal Maraz caught the charging gorebull by its side with a great crunch of metal and bone. The towering beastman howled in agony as it went down on the grass with Franz on top of it. The emperor pulled himself up and wrenched his hammer free from the downed creature's horridly-deformed ribcage, kicked aside its axe before it could reach it, and with one vicious downward blow, scattered bits of the gorebull's head all around the nearby grass. Franz pivoted to check on the spearmen detachment he just saved, but all his eyes came across was a massive hulk of dark minotaur muscle much larger than the gorebull he just killed charging straight toward him.

It was one of the infamous beastmen doombulls. This one, judging from its horns, size and equipment, seemed to be in charge of all the other mutants in the field.

The emperor clenched his teeth at the sight and tried to reposition, but he acted too late. The doombull walloped the emperor with an exceedingly powerful head-butt that would have outright snapped the neck of lesser men and knocked the rest unconscious thanks to its horns, but Franz was different; he was protected by the dark Sigmarite cross necklace that hung around his neck.

Created by Frederick von Tarnus for use by Magnus the Pious himself, the Silver Seal saved many emperors before Franz from fatal blows and even sorcerous attacks.

The doombull seemed briefly surprised when the emperor stood up from the ground, with only a finger of blood trailing from his mouth as his only sign of being hurt. Surprise quickly turned to fury, however. The mutant howled and charged again, and this time, it seemed to learn from this experience by the way it threateningly hefted its bearded greataxe. Franz stood his ground and clenched his armoured hands around his hammer's haft to meet the doombull's charge, but just as the two adversaries could clash, a bone-white mass of feathers and claws crashed against the beastman from above.

The doombull struggled with the warhawk tearing and pecking clumps out of its skin and flesh for a moment — a brief one, but certainly long enough for Franz to reposition. After having one of its eyes pecked out and its long face very nearly torn off, the hulking beastman reached out and siezed the warhawk's throat with its free hand. With a single, crushing twist from the mutant, the bird ceased its struggles and went limp. The doombull rumbled with laughter in its triumph; it opened its mouth to tear out the lifeless warhawk's head with its teeth, when Franz struck.

"HELDENHAMMER!" Franz lunged and smashed his warhammer against the minotaur's spine, knocking it away in a drunken stagger, nearly causing it to lose its footing. The doombull swiveled around to fight back, and as it did, twin arrows with bodkin points flew and buried themselves into both the mutant's knees, causing it to drop to the ground. It tried to regain its footing, when more arrows kept coming one after another, pinning themselves into the creature's hide and keeping it down.

Wordlessly, the wood elf waystalker appeared beside the emperor, longbow drawn and quiver almost empty. Franz deigned to look her way; he could tell she was furious, more than ever before. Still, it did not take a wizard to see her white-irised eyes contained repressed sorrow and grief at her loss. He could almost sympathise with her, should Deathclaw ever fall in battle.

The beastman in front of them roared, bringing Franz's attention back to it. The creature reached down and snapped the arrows sticking from its knees and with visible effort, stood up to fight once again. The elf had almost emptied her entire supply of bodkin arrows on the doombull at this point, but for every shot, it seemed to grow much more furious and more resistant to such attacks. In her anger, Franz could see the elf did not notice this.

"No more," With a voice made even deeper by his helm, the emperor reached out and seized the waystalker by the arm before she could notch another arrow. Franz very nearly flinched when the elf turned to glare at him with those white eyes full of hatred and bloodlust. He retracted his grip. "This vile thing will not allow itself to be brought low by your arrows, elf. I suggest—"

She put away her bow and drew her twin elven blades, carrying them in each hand. "It will die nonetheless."

The emperor did not grace the elf with a response beyond a nod of his helmed head. He brought his warhammer up and started advancing to face the doombull, but despite his head-start, the elf ran past him and reached the creature first.

With one arm that resembled a veined, hairy tree-trunk, the doombull swung its axe downward as the waystalker sprinted toward it. Deftly, the elf shimmied away from the blow and slashed twice against the creature's arm, inflicting an identical pair of wounds that cut almost to the bone. The doombull recoiled and hissed in pain, leaving its axe stuck on the ground. While most of the Empire's soldiers pose no significant threat when disarmed, beastmen were infamous all over the Old World for their prowess on the battlefield even without weapons.

The doombull roared as it lunged at the elf with both arms bared, intending to overpower her in its crushing embrace, but the woman was swift as a shot, and her lethality seemed only amplified by her desire for vengeance. The doombull roared in anger and annoyance when the waystalker ducked under its arms and out of its reach. Still in her primal stance, the elf used her agility along with her reduced height to pass between the towering creature's legs, where she used her blades to once again inflict bleeding gashes on both limbs as she advanced past them.

Franz saw the beastman stumble, very nearly brought to its knees once again, just as his wood elven ally stood up behind it. He thought the fight was over by the time the waystalker reared back and plunged both her wicked blades deep in the doombull's back, but the creature was remarkably tough, as befitting beastmen leaders. The emperor could only watch when the mutant swiftly whipped around and knocked the surprised elf flat on the ground with a vicious backhand, tearing the veil from her face and drawing blood from her mouth.

The doombull ambled up and raised its hoof to stomp on its downed foe. The elf would have been killed for certain had the emperor not chosen at that moment to strike the minotaur's exposed back once again, and with more force this time.

The mutant screeched, arching its deformed, misshapen back. The emperor moved up and struck his opponent by the head once with his warhammer, messily knocking off several of its teeth and dazing it slightly. Before the beastman could recover, Franz struck at the same spot again with much more force, flattening the side of the creature's head in gruesome fashion. After rearing back to gather momentum, Franz swung Ghal Maraz upward and struck the doombull square under the jaw, causing its head to arch backward in a twisted angle with its flat tongue lolling out.

The mutant, suffering from dozens of internal and external injuries plus a broken neck, crouched with its battered head hung low, seemingly close to collapsing on its back.

Franz advanced on the kneeling beastman, hammer raised. It defiantly raised its arm in an effort to block further blows from its foe, but Franz merely swatted the limb aside with contemptuous ease. He then reared back, turned his warhammer around, and swiftly gored his weapon's cruel, hooked end straight through the doombull's good eye. The unholy noise the vile thing howled out was nothing short of gratifying, after all the trouble it caused. Pressing his advantage, Franz twisted and yanked Ghal Maraz, dragging the mutant kicking and screaming to the ground.

By the time the emperor pulled his weapon loose, all of the doombull's prodigious strength had left it. The beastman laid still on the ground on its back, snorting and braying with obvious difficulty. It was clear the creature would die on its own very soon.

Franz, however, was not the kind of man to leave his foes at the mercy of their wounds. He clutched the handle of his warhammer and with a grunt, hoisted it up in the air and above his head, where it started to snap and crackle in tangible Sigmarite energy. Righteous fury sang in Franz's veins as he brought the weapon down on the doombull's mortally wounded form. The violent crunch that accompanied his strike against the mutant's bared chest was clearly audible despite the other sounds of battle raging around him, Franz could practically hear the beastman's internal organs bursting from the sheer kinetic force expended unto them, along with each of its ribs shattering, its chest yielding and deforming before Ghal Maraz's death-blow.

After executing the foul beastman chief, Franz took a moment to catch his breath before his next battle, but it was unneeded. The mutants took one mere look at their leader lying dead under the blood-caked sabatons of the emperor before losing heart and turning tail, withdrawing from the battle like the defeated cravens they were.

"Come back! Nurgle take you, spineless, flea-ridden worms! COME BACK!" The norseman leader cried upon seeing his goat-men allies fleeing the field. His forces, demoralised as they were, did not take overlong to start running after them, desperate to escape the Empire's wrath.

"Forward, men! No mercy for heretics!" Franz cried out as the tides of battle shifted all around him. He stepped down from the doombull's battered corpse to return to the fight, when his eyes came across the elf's veil on the ground near him, looking as pristine as could be. The emperor hesitated for a second before reaching down and taking it. He looked around once more in search of the cloth's owner, which did not take overlong.

Emperor Franz found the waystalker in the process of regaining consciousness, hidden from plain sight among the bloodied corpses all around her. He sauntered over to her and reached out with his unoccupied hand, intending to help his ally up to her feet.

Franz could see the defiance and untamed pride in the waystalker's eyes as she glared up at him, her frown now visible. Her veil was gone, and he could now see her face clearly. As a keen-eyed patron of the arts, Franz immediately saw she possessed an almost otherworldly fairness to her, like most elven women. With a pair of upturned, silver-irised eyes, a snub-shaped nose, thin lips and unnaturally pale skin, the elf would certainly be considered beautiful and exotic in the courts of Altdorf at the very least.

"You're staring again, human."

The emperor coughed, feeling awkward all the sudden. "Good to hear that beastman hasn't knocked your jaw from its hinges." He was glad his voice masked his embarrassment. "Or perhaps I am wrong. Have you need of healer?"

"I am of the asrai, tempered by the unending blizzards of Atylwyth the Winterheart. Blessed by Isha, watched over by Morai-heg, and safeguarded by Lileath." The elf proclaimed as she reached out and grasped Franz's armoured forearm. Using him as leverage, she pulled herself up and wiped the blood trailing from her mouth.

When she caught sight of her crumpled veil in Franz's still-outstretched hand, she was quick to snatch it from him. "I am _not_ as fragile as you might think." She said to him, though for the first time, she sounded uncertain to his ears.

Franz retracted his arm and turned to his side. He looked ahead, surveying the battlefield that still raged on. "So you say, daughter of Atylwyth."

 **GELT**

It was midnight upon Wolfenburg. Honest folk had departed the streets to wait out the darkness and patrols of halberdiers replaced them, on alert and wary for signs of Chaos infiltrators. In the city keep at the centre of the settlement, two figures and their bodyguards and retainers kept awake.

"I grow tired of waiting." Count von Raukov said. There were dark, shadowy rings around his weary eyes. "Your adjutant said the emperor would arrive just after dusk. Tomorrow starts in an hour, and my outriders still report no signs of his imperial majesty's army. Asvaldsson's warhost is running rampant across my little realm, slaughtering the armies I've sent with impunity while we sit here, languishing. I wonder, did Franz change his mind and left us to the hounds of Chaos?"

Supreme Patriarch Gelt shook his head. "As you well know, my graf, Captain Markus Kruber is one of the only survivors of a failed expedition to a necromancer's tomb here in this very province. More recently, he also survived a skaven incursion in Ubersreik, where he was decorated several times by the emperor himself for performing heroic actions crucial to the survival of the city. If he hadn't learned to be precise and astute under duress during those trying times, he would not be present here, providing leadership for my retinue."

He paused for a second, letting the weight of his words sink in. "It is not typical for him to make mistakes, my graf."

Von Raukov gave the gold wizard an incredulous look in response.

"I believe the emperor is merely delayed, my lord." Captain Kruber himself chimed in, putting down his tobacco pipe for the moment. "I don't think it's in his nature to leave his men to fend for themselves after promising to help. Surely they must have run across another band of Chaos warriors or beastmen, and were forced to defend themselves." He placed his pipe back in his mouth.

"This Karl Franz of yours is really taking his time..." Khoril Rudriksson, Gelt's token dwarf giantslayer companion, grumbled from his corner in the room. Like all slayers, he wore very little, only a cloak made out of bear pelts, a pair of hard leather pants coupled with weathered travelling boots covered his short, yet extremely-muscular form. His only weapon was a gigantic war axe that looked more suited for an orc to wield.

The gold wizard chuckled. "Eager to meet your end tonight, are you, dwarf?"

"Aye. I'd sooner face it now rather than later." The giantslayer nodded and wiped his mouth. From the unimpressed look on his flat-nosed, orange-bearded face, Khoril did not like the taste of von Raukov's weak Ostlander beer. "Don't know what I'd do if I survive all this..."

"You slayers sure are a morbid folk," Kruber said, his slight frown hidden from sight behind his black, meticulously-trimmed moustache and beard. "Not at all like your ranger cousins."

Khoril laughed at that. "That's 'cause we slayers ain't touched in the head from being under the sun and breathing too much fresh air, captain manling." He paused briefly. "Of course, we slayers also run around exposed to the elements while looking for something big and angry enough to kill us. Whatever."

"Your doom will have to wait, then." Frau Konstanze Lichtenfels, the amethyst wizard in Gelt's retinue, chimed in. Turning to look at her, Gelt saw voluminous robes of dark purple covering her body head-to-toe, and a grisly, jewel-encrusted headress made out of bones and the remnants of a wyvern's skull resting upon her completely hairless head. The only weapon she carried seemed to be her wizard's scythe, with an edge that looked sharp enough to cut and slice.

"Death comes to us all... but I suspect you won't come to meet the one fated to take your life and your shame this night, or the day that comes next, dwarf." When Gelt first heard it, he was mildly surprised and even a little amused at how high and girlish Lichtenfels' Averlander-accented voice was, in stark contrast to her pale complexion, gloomy robes and austere demeanour.

"And what makes you say that, wizard?" Khoril turned to the death mage.

"Call it a hunch." She said with a shrug, trying to sound vague.

Sir Siegmund Todwunsch the Morrite Black Guard uttered a dismissive grunt, his dark obsidian plates clinking against one another as his chest moved.

Before anyone else could speak their mind, two of Count von Raukov's knights entered the room, along with a haggard-looking man in dented platemail armour and robes. From his shaved head and the wolf pelts he also donned over his plates in lieu of a cloak, the man was evidently a warrior priest of Ulric.

Kruber immediately stood up at the sight of the man, dropping his pipe. "Taal's breath... we thought you were dead, Arnulf."

Even Gelt was surprised, though his golden mask helped veil his expression. "You... survived your ordeal in the Brass Keep? Come and sit; you must tell us all about your journey, priest."

Arnulf Hoffstetter, the warrior priest of Ulric, said nothing. He pushed aside the knights escorting him and walked into the room. He helped himself to one of Khoril's beers, wiped his mouth and flopped down on a stone chair.

"Where's Meinhard and Kirstein?" He spoke, after taking another draught of his beer.

"The sergeant's being tended to in the infirmary downstairs," Kruber replied on Gelt's behalf. "But Meinhard..." He looked to his boots, his voice now solemn. "Meinhard didn't make it. He's lost too much blood... it's a miracle in itself he even made it to Wolfenburg alive."

Arnulf stared at the bottle of beer in his gauntleted hand. "He told me how happy he was to visit his family here in Ostland after finishing part of his studies in that wizard college of his in Altdorf..." He sighed. "Chances are, his folks're probably already dead. Poor lad."

There was silence after that, only broken by Gelt clearing his throat.

"While the deaths of our comrades and the fall of the Brass Keep are... regrettable, we still have yet to know what exactly happened to you while out there, Hoffstetter." He said. "However did you make it out and reach Wolfenburg intact? Did reinforcements from Graf Todbringer relieve you?"

"Aye, reinforcements did come, alright." The warrior priest nodded, reclining on his seat. "We did not last long trying to hold the Brass Keep, and we were forced to withdraw. We tried to reach Middenheim on foot, but the Norscans and the beastmen were relentless in their pursuit of us. I didn't think we'd make it before they dash us all to pieces and send us all to Morr, but our prayers were answered when the emperor himself came from the south and smashed the enemy. After tending to our wounded and taking care of the dead, his imperial majesty told me to take a horse and ride ahead, to warn you of his approach."

The supreme patriarch smirked. "Do you see now, my graf? Do you recall what I told you about _patience?_ Had we simply used our time to wait and plan, we might have done something _productive_ with our time instead of pointlessly bickering whether or not Franz would dare abandon the province."

"Do not use that impertinent tone with me, wizard." Von Raukov replied indignantly. "But I suppose you have the right of it. Come, then. We should prepare to receive the emperor's arrival. Perhaps then we can discuss how we will go about ridding Ostland of Chaos."

It was a new day when the gates of Wolfenburg parted to make way for Emperor Franz and his army. While his men immediately retreated to the barracks to get some rest, the emperor himself took some of his bodyguards and marched straight for Count von Raukov's castle, where the elector count, the supreme patriarch and a few others waited patiently for his presence.

At the sight of Franz, von Raukov and all of his knights and soldiers bowed, along with most of Gelt's retinue. The gold wizard himself merely waited for the pettiness and tiring pleasantries his compatriots had indulged in to finally come to a halt, in order to discuss the most urgent matter at hand. He was about to turn and find a seat, when Franz approached, looking somewhat surprised and a little battle-weary.

"Gelt? Last I've heard, you were hunting for those relics of yours near the Red Eye Mountain, along with the ragged band of mismatched treasure-hunters, magic-wielders and death-seekers." The emperor said. "Pray tell, what brings you to Wolfenburg?"

The supreme patriarch shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I cannot say I found _exactly_ what I was looking for on that wretched, goblin-infested mountain, your majesty, but I did find information as to _where_ it should be now. I was just about to return to Altdorf to resume my duties in your court for the time being, when news of Kislev's fall reached my little group. Needless to say, I turned and changed my course to assist you and yours with whatever I can."

He let out an easygoing chuckle. "I do enjoy harvesting the fruits of my studies immensely, but the fate of the world takes priority over such petty things, I say."

Emperor Franz was infamous among the Empire's nobility for his uncanny ability to find hints and untruths just by a person's facial expressions and tone-of-voice. Luckily for Gelt, he no longer had a face, and however good Franz was in detecting falsehoods and subtle suggestions within words, the gold wizard was much, much better at telling lies.

"Hm," His imperial majesty looked down at him, eyeing him in a suspicious manner. The moment lasted very briefly, however. "If that's truly the case, wizard, then let us do what we can for Ostland together. Sigmar knows the province needs all the manpower and assistance it can get."

"My abilities are ever at your disposal, my liege." Gelt gracefully bowed. He smirked behind the mask. "Ever at your disposal indeed..."

 **WOLFHARD**

"Vorwärts, MARSCH!"

Come morning, and Emperor Franz's newly-strengthened force was once again on the move. Reinforced by fresh regiments from Reikland and Middenland, the emperor's army now included esteemed troops from the Carroburg Greatswords, members of the Knights Panther, and even veteran demigryph riders from the feared Royal Altdorf Gryphites.

Moving alongside the emperor's troops was Count Valmir von Raukov's own force, which consisted chiefly of hardened greatsword regiments, artillery units such as mortars and helstorm batteries, bow-wielding levies, and legions upon legions of rabid, frothing-at-the-mouth flagellants. The centrepiece of his army was Ostland's solitary steam tank, the _Starklanze._

Since he had a sudden urge to stretch his legs, the templar Wolfhard Richter, much unlike his half-sister who insisted upon riding with Franz's Reiksguard, decided to forgo his horse and march alongside the flagellants. Upon seeing his witch hunter garb, many of them offered to become his followers should they survive the battle, but while he admired these people for their dedication to Sigmar and the Empire, Wolfhard declined them. Unlike most templars, he found himself most often assigned to do investigative work instead of field work, and as a result he started valuing stealth, intelligence and discretion better than skill and strength in arms. Flagellants were most often zealous-but-illiterate peasants with no love for subtlety. They would be more at home in Eloise's new retinue.

"Look at that, witch hunter..."

Wolfhard looked to his side, expecting another flagellant. Instead, he found a man in a state trooper's livery, dyed the distinctive red and black colours of Nuln. _An Ironside sergeant_ , the witch hunter thought. Moreover, the man had bloodied bandages covering his forehead and his right sleeve.

"Look at what, sergeant?" Wolfhard answered evenly, to which the man raised an arm and pointed near where Emperor Franz rode on his elephant-sized griffon.

Wolfhard did an exaggerated eye-roll. "That's Deathclaw, sergeant." He snarked.

The Wissenlander gave him a sour look. "I wasn't talking about the bloody griffon. I was talking about that... that _thing_ with the longbow, walking in stride so close to the emperor." He frowned, his voice coming out a contemptuous rasp. "Why in Sigmar's name is no one batting an eye to it? What business does it have with the Empire, walking alongside the emperor like one of his Reiksguards, no less?"

While he could not see just who exactly was the man pointing at thanks to Deathclaw blocking the view, the witch hunter already knew who it was he was talking about.

"Haven't you heard? Emperor Franz has started accepting wood elves into the Reiksguard. Desperate times, and all that." He replied, keeping up the sarcasm out of boredom and disinterest at the conversation he was having. "Apparently, this one was sent by the wood elven mage-queen herself to watch over his imperial majesty... to make sure he doesn't get himself killed or assassinated."

"What a load of fucking bollocks," The man spat. "I'd sooner trust a von Carstein to keep his word over one of those knife-eared deer-fuckers telling me it's here to make friends. Did you know those things hunt men for sport once in a while?"

"Well, I don't trust her either. Not with the way she glares at everyone." Wolfhard looked to the man and shrugged.

He'd heard stories speaking of wood elven "Wild Hunts", but he scarcely believed them, chiefly because such stories probably originated from drunken Bretonnian peasants. He looked back to the road, but kept talking. "His imperial majesty walks easy when near the elf, however. He did not look like he trusted her with his back yesterday, but after we smashed that Chaos host last night, I've noticed he does not seem too guarded around her now. He might just feel responsible for the elf losing her bird, I don't know."

"Bird? What bird?" The Ironside sergeant asked, narrowing his eyes.

Wolfhard grimaced, remembering the great, feathery thing that used to soar the skies above him. "The elf bestrode a white hawk, one of the giant specimens that frequent the Forest of Loren. Some say it was feathered down by arrows. Ripped apart by a swarm of harpies, some other men would say. Volkmar's teeth, I even heard from some of the pistoliers saying it was killed defending the emperor himself from a doombull. Gods, can you believe it? How ridiculous."

The man wiped his nose and seemed indifferent, but Wolfhard kept on talking. It was one of the ways he used to stave off boredom. "Anyway, if you're wondering why the elf is on foot while the rest of the emperor's retinue rides, when the Reiksguard offered her a spare horse, the arrogant wench refused. She insists on keeping close to watch over Franz, but she's just too bloody proud to take charities from the Empire."

The man grunted, his dark brown eyes sparkling with disapproval and contempt for the wood elf. He appeared as if he was about to speak once more, when all the marching quickly came to a stop at the sound of Ludwig Schwarzhelm's voice.

"HOLD!" The Emperor's Champion bellowed. Wolfhard pushed aside a flagellant and looked to the man, finding him close to the emperor, in the process of turning his demigryph to face the side of the road. "Who goes there! Show yourself!" He seemed to be shouting at the shadowed woods in the distance.

"State troops, halt!" Karl Franz had Deathclaw rear up on his hind legs for a second to catch everyone's attention. "I want handguns, bows and crossbows facing those woods! Form ranks and prepare to fire! Shields up, swordsmen! Schwarzhelm, what do you see?"

The champion did not seem at all alarmed, however. "It's Wulfhart's Hunters."

"Hoi!" Wolfhard heard a man cry out from the depths of the woods. A moment passed, and a large group of bow-wielding men wearing camouflaged leathers appeared, fast approaching the halted Imperial column. Doing a cursory count in his mind, Wolfhard figured the men numbered at more than two hundred and fifty.

"Men, stand down!" Emperor Franz ordered at once the moment he saw the new arrivals. "At ease!"

"Good to see you, old man." The witch hunter spied one of them, a middle-aged man with a black beard on his face and a flat cap with a blue plume on his head. He had a state sergeant's light slashing sabre and a dirk hanging by side-by-side in their scabbards from his belt, and carried a amber-encrusted longbow inscribed with gothic Reikspiel runes, at least from a distance.

"Huntsmarshal Wulfhart." Schwarzhelm curtly nodded in response to the younger man. "You've word for the emperor?"

"Something like that." Markus Wulfhart smiled, tipping his cap. He turned to look behind his shoulder. "Starke? You're the one good with words. Why don't you speak to Emperor Franz on our behalf?"

Another of Wulfhart's trappers stepped forward. Examining him, Wolfhard found the man rather unremarkable. He was tall and gaunt and looked just as ragged as his comrades, with a shaggy, lice-ridden brown beard that reached up to his chest. He carried a shortbow, and the way he held it suggested he was an expert with the weapon. Furthermore, his way of walking was extremely collected; with long, deliberate strides that seemed almost elf-like.

When the sun's rays shone down upon him and dispelled the shadows generated by his cap that hid his eyes from view, however, Wolfhard figured out the man was no ordinary archer. _He's a grey wizard,_ the witch hunter's thoughts resounded. Wolfhard had seen those stormy grey eyes on some of the wizards he associated with in the past. More often than not, they were shadowmancers sent to assist the Order on particularly gruelling cloak-and-dagger cases.

"Emperor Franz," The disguised grey wizard began. "It's certainly been a while since we last met."

"Indeed," The emperor seemed like he wanted to smile, but settled only for a nod. "And what brings you and my Huntsmarshal to me, Magister Lord Reiner Starke?"

"We've both heard of the plight Ostland is facing in these dark times, your imperial majesty. We've come to join forces with you in your crusade against Asvaldsson, the sorcerer lord of Tzeentch." Magister Lord Starke said.

Gradually, the illusory spells the grey wizard previously casted on himself faded away, revealing his true form of an old, but remarkably muscular man with a short, well-trimmed silver beard, bedecked in long grey robes with a matching hedge wizard's hat. His shortbow also disappeared, and in its place was a weathered, plain-looking staff ornamented with the skull and wings of a raven. "If you would have us, of course."

"I won't refuse your aid, grey wizard, and neither would I Wulfhart's." Franz said. "But first, I would have you tell me what happened in the eleventh of Nachgeheim, in the year 2488."

The cryptic question sent waves of confused sounds and mumbling among Karl Franz's army, but Starke himself only smiled knowingly. Wolfhard combed his vast knowledge of dates and events covered up by his Order, but he knew nothing significant happened to the Empire during the 11th of Nachgeheim, 2488 IC. The only event worthy of note during that year was the end of the third Bretonnian Errantry War, during which the backwoods, technologically-inept nation was left vulnerable to greenskin attacks due to the severity of the military losses it sustained. While it was certainly brave and noble of them to do so, Wolfhard thought it the Bretons were being much more foolish than usual to even consider starting an impossible quest to cleanse the entire Old World of greenskins.

Thus, after a period of silence, Starke sighed and shook his head, still smiling that easygoing smile of his. "I forgot, my emperor." He said, rather simply.

"As you should." For some, unknown reason, the emperor seemed pleased at that. "Come, then. Take your place next to Gelt. As for you, Wulfhart, fall in line with the archers. Perhaps you could impart a bit of your monster-hunting knowledge to them as we march. Advance, men! Forward march!"

While Starke and Wulfhart departed to their positions in Franz's army, the men started moving along the path once more. Wolfhard couldn't keep himself from thinking on Franz and Starke's nebulous "conversation", but he soon had to pick up the pace, so as to not be left behind. Once he was back in formation, Wolfhard spared a glance at his half-sister, who was gazing up at the emperor on his griffon admiringly.

The witch hunter sighed. Eloise and Wolfhard, along with their father Lord Tristan von Mannstedt, were members of the late Emperor Luitpold von Holswig-Schliesten's royal court in Altdorf nearly five and ten years ago. Lord von Mannstedt was held in high regard among the Holy Order of the Templars of Sigmar for his noble house's traditional, centuries-long role of providing excellent witch hunter recruits, and as such, he was Emperor Luitpold's intermediary for the Order. Wolfhard was no trueborn like Eloise, but he also had a place in the emperor's court as a disobedient, smart-mouthed squire to an old, somewhat unstable knight from Averland.

He remembered those days when Eloise would swoon and giggle with other girls in court whenever the young Prince Franz would pass them by, looking all serious and grim as though someone just told him his entire family was being held hostage by Marienburgers. Even as a lad, Wolfhard knew his half-sister was being foolish in her attraction; Franz always was studying state politics and warcraft, and he only ever looked at one girl in court: the fair and gregarious, but vain and airheaded Emmanuelle von Liebwitz, who grew up to be the current Wissenlander elector countess. He also remembered laughing at the crushed look on Eloise's face when news of Prince Franz's betrothal to Saskia Steinhäusser, a Nordlander from a minor noble house, broke out.

Wolfhard had thought Eloise had forgotten about Prince Franz after being made a witch huntress and persecuting heretics very nearly all the time. The dark nature of her line of work and the harrowing deeds she carried out during her career had hardened her heart and chilled her emotions, but it seemed with every grand victory in battle and astonishing diplomatic success for the newly-crowned Emperor Franz, Eloise's admiration for him strengthened. Not even the fact that the emperor appeared content in his marriage seemed to put her off.

Still, Wolfhard thought it good to see Eloise's demeanour shift back to her younger, more expressive self while around Franz. He only hoped she would not be so bold as to act on her feelings.

After a short while his thoughts then drifted to other things, mostly about his work in the Order, as well as the new arrivals in Wulhart and Starke. Not a moment too soon, he started thinking about the supple curves the comely celestial wizard marching in front of him had sported. Out of sheer boredom, Wolfhard let his thoughts as well as his gaze stay fixated on the mage's well-proportioned rear and lustrous blonde hair, imagining running his hands on both.

 _Out, foul daemon! Return to Slaanesh!_ The witch hunter shook his head. If the Order found out about the heretical line of thinking going on in his head just then, they'd have him thrown out. Had they also learned the momentary subject of his desire was also a magister, he'd simply disappear. Before long, Wolfhard started focusing on the road again, but the accursed hours would not quicken. He worried the march would soon reduce him to sleep due to the unchanging environment and the monotony of it all, but after only another hour did the first sign of Chaos activity appear for all to see.

"Cursed heretics!" Count Valmir von Raukov fumed. He was staring ahead to the horizon, where one of his sacked villages still burned, sending thick stacks of acrid black smoke into the heavens above. "I swear, I'll not rest until the Everchosen meets his end on my lance!"

"Easier said than done, my graf." Supreme Patriarch Gelt chimed in from atop his magnificent white pegasus mount.

Soon, more signs of Chaos corruption started to make themselves apparent. Large tracts of once-fertile land were scourged with dark sorceries, rendering them black, sterile, and reeking of decay. Clumps of terrible spikes made of fell, obsidian-like matter jutted from the ground, towering over the men and their mounts. Even the skies seemed to shift around them, turning from a pleasant blue into malevolent shades of murky crimson.

"He is here! Be wary, Asvaldsson is near!" Magister Lord Starke called out. Indeed, the air around them seemed to take a hostile, foreboding atmosphere. "Steel your hearts and prepare yourselves, men of the Empire! Tzeentchian trickery is afoot!"

Wolfhard had seen such an environment in Kislev before, and he was not afraid. His faith in his gods saw him through that hellish, Chaos-infested fallen nation, and he was sure They won't fail him now. With faith in Sigmar, honest steel, and purifying gunpowder, the Empire endured as it always had, the End Times and the Everchosen be damned.

Soon, they left the open plains and entered the Forest of Shadows. Tall, moss-covered trees sprinkled with the first drops of snow loomed over the men, wreathing them in shadows. The day was already poorly-lit to begin with thanks to the roiling skies that blocked the sun and writhed with Chaotic energy, but the act of entering the woods had cut visibility so much, the men started throwing questions around as to the time of the day, with some being convinced that night had descended upon them early.

"Torches! I want those torches lit, now!" The witch hunter heard Emperor Franz's booming voice, though he could not see where he was. "Make ready, soldiers! Though he eludes our eyes, our foe draws close, no doubt!"

Wolfhard stuck close with the flagellants as the men ignited their field torches and shifted to a more defensive formation. He drew his repeater handgun from its strap and held it close, grateful for the new orange light and warmth that came from the lit torches all around him. He looked around the heavily-forested area with his gun held downrange, staring down its iron sights as everyone waited for the unseen foe to come around.

"This is folly." The witch hunter heard one of the knights in Count von Raukov's retinue blurt out after a long while. "We should clear out of this forest. We shan't find the heretics waiting here for us to— hagh!"

Those standing close to the knight looked to him in surprise when he stiffened on his saddle, clutching his chest and looking as if he was in pain. Before anyone could react, he keeled over from his horse and landed on the blackened ground with a thud, whereupon he dragged himself up to his knees, closed his hands around his throat and started violently convulsing.

The knight's comrades were quick to rush over to his side, likely thinking he was having a stroke. Wolfhard, being a witch hunter, knew better.

"No! STOP!" He all but screamed as he pushed and shoved his way to the knight. "Sigmar's teeth, get away from him RIGHT NOW! He's—"

All hell broke loose when the knight reared his head back, unhinged his jaw and let loose a chilling, bloodcurdling scream so terrifying, Wolfhard felt as if the bones in his body was aflame and the flesh seared from within him. An insect's talon-tipped leg burst from each of the knight's legs and arms, his platemailed chest exploded and parted aside to reveal a mouth lined with crooked, bone-like teeth and a trio of exceptionally long, prehensile tongues slick with fluids emerged from his throat. More tentacles, mouths, tongues, eyes and other mutations rapidly sprang up from the knight's broken form, and by the time Wolfhard and a few others had emptied their guns on the rapidly-mutating creature, it was too late to stop it from turning its sights on the succulent, fleshy creatures futilely trying to attack it.

The Chaos spawn swatted aside a spearman's weapon with one of its tentacles before using another to grasp the spearman himself around the waist. The unfortunate state trooper could do nothing but scream as he was jammed inside the churning mouth where the knight's chest cavity once was. Teeth clenched, Wolfhard finished reloading his handgun and turned it against the creature. He held the firearm at an angle and used his other hand to spin its multiple barrels as he held the trigger, causing his shots to come out of his gun in extremely rapid fashion. The Chaos spawn was in the process of consuming another knight and his horse when each one of the tentacles holding its prey were blasted to pieces by a fusillade of repeater shots, narrowly saving the knight from his mount's grisly fate.

The fleshy mutant, apparently recognising Wolfhard as the most major threat to it, shuffled its way to the witch hunter, tentacles flailing in the air. Handgunners and crossbowmen emptied their weapons into the Chaos spawn, to very little effect. Wolfhard saw several tentacles coming his way, and he avoided each clumsy, uncoordinated attack by ducking, rolling, and shifting to the side. After barely evading being snatched by another appendage, the witch hunter unhooked one of the alchemical flasks from his belt and flung it at the creature, where it promptly shattered and released the yellow fluid contained within.

The Chaos spawn let out a terrible screech as the chemical agent sizzled on its corrupted skin, burning it away like acid. It flailed around wildly, heedless of the soldiers shooting and stabbing around it. It was only until one courageous knight braved the spawn's tongues and tentacles to get close enough to skewer its bulbous head with his lance did the creature stop flailing, allowing a nearby pyromancer to engulf it in the fires of Aqshy, roasting the mutant alive.

So many thoughts crossed Wolfhard's mind after the mindless beast was killed. No man who opposed the dark gods was in risk of being suddenly turned into a Chaos spawn. The witch hunter expected silence to promptly descend upon Emperor Franz's army, but the sounds of battle and men screaming still pervaded. He pivoted around and was shocked to see the men engaged in battle with daemonic horrors of Tzeentch. He was just about to wonder where the fiends came from, when a portal suddenly opened in the sky above the trees, and from its churning depths did scores of flying daemons known as screamers emerged, swooping down and tearing on the unfortunate state troops below them.

"Shallya's heaving teats! HERE THEY COME!"

The witch hunter heard a state sergeant shout, then turned his head to where the man pointed his sword. Ahead, under the supernatural light of the entropic fires that blazed from their armour and eye-sockets, a massive force of Norscan barbarians and black-plated Chaos warriors appeared from deeper into the shadowy woods, brandishing axes, swords, flails and maces that oozed with the Taint. The warband's ranks seemed to be supplemented by more daemons, warlocks, corrupted knights atop daemonic steeds and even more Chaos spawn.

As the sense of mounting dread welled up within him, Wolfhard took aim with his repeater handgun and fired on a nearby horror engaging an Ostlander swordsman, banishing it after a couple of precise shots. The man lived long enough to nod and mutter a word of thanks to him before a screamer swooped down, snatched him from the ground and started taking pieces out of him mid-air. Grimacing, the witch hunter dashed against the nearby corpse of a destrier and propped his firearm over the saddle. After compensating for distance and wind speed, Wolfhard steadied his breath, took aim, and fired a quick burst. Such was his skill with the gun, two of his three shots brushed past the trees, sailed the open air, and tore open the fleshy joint between the daemonic flyer's body and right wing, which proved enough to drop it out of the sky.

"Hold fast! Maintain your positions!"

Wolfhard turned his gaze to another part of the skies and saw Karl Franz and Deathclaw, the latter of which appeared to be busily tearing apart the eviscerated corpse of an unfortunate screamer. They were alone for a while, when Balthasar Gelt and his pegasus mare flew up from the ground and took their place beside the emperor.

"Have faith! We will prevail!" The supreme patriarch bellowed.

He stretched his hands to an incoming flock of screamers, and in an instant, a molten wave of red liquid metal burst from the gold wizard's fingers, incinerating outright several of the daemons before they could come close. Those fortunate enough to avoid the molten wave soon faced Deathclaw's talons and Franz's warhammer.

The men cheered at Gelt's scintillating display of his sorcerous might. Wolfhard thanked Sigmar and Taal the wizard did not turn the screamers into gold; doubtless many would die when it started raining golden daemons upon their heads. The witch hunter picked himself up from his prone position to a crouched one. Taking aim and firing once again, he banished another horror. Standing up, he adjusted his sights, took aim and shot down a distant screamer before it could swoop down and impale a halberdier with its mouth-spikes.

There was a frightening screech coming from his side. Wolfhard whipped to the source of the sound and found one of the pink-skinned horrors bearing down on him, its hand glowing and writhing with corrupting energies, illuminating the area around it with a sickly blue light. At that moment, he knew shooting the creature would be out of the question; it already had too much of a head-start priming a doombolt. Instead, he tensed up and waited for the daemon to act, so he may evade its attack.

The horror's gaping mouth seemed to twist into a grin as it let loose with an energy attack. The witch hunter moved in time and avoided the shimmering projectile, but only barely. The ends of his coat was burned severely as a consequence.

The pink daemon howled in anger. Wolfhard stopped running, crouched down and took aim. But before he could pull the trigger, a surge of blue lightning arced across the field and struck the horror square by its side, disintegrating its physical form and banishing it back to the Realm of Chaos. The witch hunter tore his gaze from where the daemon once was and to the source of the lightning, the same blonde-haired celestial wizard he was ogling just hours ago.

"Pay more attention, templar!" She shouted at him before departing, her focus already on another horror in the distance.

The witch hunter quickly counted his munitions, then he looked up to survey the battlefield. While many lives were lost in the daemon attack, the horrors of Tzeentch took much more damage besieging their hunkered down foes. Soon enough, after another minute of concentrated fighting, the last of the daemons were repulsed and banished back to the nether planes, leaving the Empire's men bloodied and winded, but mostly alive and with sufficient strength and vigour to face the steadily-advancing, increasingly-rowdy Chaos warband ahead of them.

"Faithless Imperial scum!" One of the heretics was heard shouting across the field.

"I'll drink my mead from a cup of your weakling emperor's skull, pathetic Sigmarites!" Another exclaimed.

"All glory to Chaos! Death to the Empire!" And yet another shouted.

Wolfhard's grip on his handgun threatened to snap it in two. _Judgement is coming, heretics._

"Look at them! Look at the foul, ever-consuming tide of darkness sweeping across the forest towards us, brothers and sisters!"

Deathclaw glided toward the front of the Empire formation, and on him rode Karl Franz, looking resplendent in his armour despite the fresh coat of daemon blood staining it.

"Do you hear the fell hounds of Chaos braying and howling as they march forth, brave men of the Empire? Stand, listen, and _behold_ as they jeer and taunt, and make obscene gestures at us much like witless greenskins would! They think us _weak,_ and scarce worth fighting after their daemonic pets had _already_ bloodied us in _such_ a dishonourable, underhanded manner! Tell me, noble sons of Sigmar, Ulric, Taal, or what have you! Tell me! Shall we let this slight against our honour, our prowess in battle as _warriors_ , stand unavenged?"

Thousands of angry voices exploded at once.

"No!"

"We'll show those faithless bastards!"

"Fuck what the barbarians think! Fuck them!"

"Kill the heretics! KILL THEM ALL!"

Franz's mere action of holding up his hand was enough to silence the entire army. Without further ado, his imperial majesty alone began to speak once more.

"The heretics draw near, and we wait for them to come to us, hoping that they would impale themselves on our spears before they breach our shields! I'll have NONE of that now! Our gods demand the blood of our foes, and I DO NOT intend to keep them waiting! Steel yourselves, men... prepare your swords and look to your guns! This day, we will soak this forest red with Norscan blood! This day, we will write ourselves into songs and legends, and BATHE ourselves in _GLORY!"_

Emperor Franz raised Ghal Maraz in the air, where it started to glow and shine in holy light.

"This day, let it be known that we DEFIED the gods of darkness themselves! Let it be sung by all those safely at home that we, brave servants of Sigmar, had _BANISHED_ the corruption of Chaos from Ostland this day, and _FOREVERMORE!"_

The men promptly erupted into wild, almost rabid shouting and cheering. They raised their weapons high and roared like animals driven into a frenzy.

Deathclaw let out a triumphant bloodroar and spread his magnificent wings. Emperor Franz was shouting now. _"_ FOR THE COMET! FOR THE WARHAMMER! FOR THE EMPIRE! **FOR SIGMAR!** "

Back on the ground, Wolfhard knew he shouldn't be cheering with the rest of the men at the top of his lungs. A good templar of the Order conducted himself with discipline and the utmost decorum, but somehow, the way Franz spoke his words banished all his fears and made his blood boil in righteous fury. He was filled with an unquenchable desire to follow the emperor and burn all the foes that threatened his beloved nation. At that moment, he became almost as fervent as the half-naked flagellants next to him.

"FOR THE COMET! FOR THE WARHAMMER!" United in one voice, all men of the Empire shouted. "FOR THE EMPIRE! _**FOR SIGMAR!**_ "

The emperor's griffon screeched and swooped in, toward the direction of the approaching Chaos horde. Wolfhard was one of the first to advance, following Franz and Deathclaw to battle screaming the name of his gods from his lips. Aside from Sigmar, Ulric and Taal, he heard the soldiers and knights beside and behind him calling out for Rhya, Myrmidia and Verena, and he even heard a few of them invoking the Lady of the Lake, but Wolfhard was too focused on the enemy in front of him to care about them all.

"Handgunners, form ranks!" He bellowed to his comrades, who did so immediately. "Steady... take aim!" He raised a hand, closed it into a fist and pulled it down. "OPEN FIRE!"

Wolfhard unleashed a volley from his repeater handgun on the first rank of Chaos troops. His shots, along with the rest of the handgunners acting on his command, ripped apart norsemen, banished daemons, unhorsed corrupted knights, destroyed trees and made enemy sorcerers cower behind the shields of their allies.

"Again! One more shot!" The witch hunter announced. "Make ready... take aim!" He timed his next command with the roar of the helblaster volley guns behind him. "ALL RANKS, FIRE!"

The second volley had a more pronounced effect: most of the first rank of Chaos warriors were swept away by a hail of shots, some had body parts blown off and even a few were outright decapitated, their bodies nought but chaff before the combined might of the handgunners and the helblasters. Still, the forces of the dark gods did not relent; they shoved aside the corpses of their dead comrades and continued advancing forth, their eyes seething with rage and bloodlust.

"Handgunners, withdraw behind the main battle line! Sergeants, take charge!" The witch hunter commanded, and the men quickly obeyed. He, on the other hand, stood behind, still reloading his weapon. By the time the halberdiers, spearmen and swordsmen passed by him, he charged forth along with them, repeater handgun raised and the hymn of battle singing in his veins.

"FOR THE EMPEROR!" He roared along with the loud blast his handgun generated.

The shot tore across a helmet-less Chaos warrior's face, but he still kept going. Wolfhard's second shot ripped a bloody trench across his scalp, making him clench his teeth in pain. The witch hunter's third and final shot landed on the warrior's closed mouth, obliterating his front teeth and tearing a hole at the back of his head. The heretic's lifeless body, spurred on by its gathered momentum, tumbled forward like a ragdoll before being trampled underfoot by its still-living comrades.

Acrid powder emitted by his repeater handgun stung Wolfhard's eyes, but he paid his pain no mind. The Empire and Chaos lines finally crossed steel, but the templar was unafraid. Another Norscan approached and raised his mace at Wolfhard, but he was unfazed. He merely spun his handgun's barrels with his free hand, pointed it at the foe, and held the trigger.

The Norscan howled as Wolfhard blasted him with five point-blank shots to the torso. When his gun clicked empty, the witch hunter slung it behind his shoulder, drew a pair of pistols from his coat and quickly unloaded them on a pair of nearby enemy warriors, killing both of them with precise shots to the head. Knowing that reloading in the middle of a hectic battle was to court an easily avoidable death, Wolfhard simply discarded his spent pistols, drew another pair, and used both guns to banish a charging pink horror.

When more foes marched forth to put an end to him, the witch hunter was quick to put them down with lightning-quick pistol shots to their vitals, and should they lack vitals, he simply emptied bullet after bullet on his foes until they dropped dead. For several minutes in the tempest of battle, state troopers and knights gaped in awe at the amount of bodies Wolfhard had dropped; he was a zeal-driven whirlwind of steel and unforgiving fire, ruthless and unrelenting in destroying heretics and daemons alike.

"BEWARE THE WIZARD!"

Wolfhard had just discarded a pistol when he heard one of his comrades shout. He turned his head and regarded an enemy warlock channelling the winds of Shyish. "By the Winds of Death, and by Morrslieb's wrathful gaze!" The warlock chanted, his Norscan-accented voice grating and harsh to the ears. "Your lives are mine to snuff out, Sigmarites! In the name of the Eagle!"

 _Volkmar's breath!_ Wolfhard frantically put his unused pistol back inside his coat and hurriedly drew his repeater handgun. He went down on a knee and stared down the gun's iron sights as the tried to draw a bead on the Tzeentchian warlock. Alas, by the time he found the time to unleash a couple of shots and riddle the death mage full of holes, the heretic had already casted a spell.

A black rupture in the fabric of reality materialised upon the battlefield, right in the middle of an Empire handgunner formation. The rupture emitted a horrid screeching sound before rapidly expanding into a giant orb and turning purple as it did so. Recognising the threat the orb posed, state troopers quickly tried to retreat to a safe distance. The orb, however, acted faster than most. Many of Franz's men silently died as their bodies touched the orb's edges; they could not even utter a sound before their whole forms were turned into hard, unsightly crystal formations, freezing them in place in the process of performing their last, panicked actions.

The battle continued with neither side gaining an advantage over the other. Halberdiers and spearmen kept Chaos warriors back while the handgunners and crossbowmen behind them took potshots on the enemy. Swordsmen charged in and filled gaps in the battle line whenever they opened, while skirmishers in the pistoliers and outriders harassed and poked the enemy's line. Heavy cavalry such as Franz's Reiksguard as well as demigryph-riding knights charged in whenever the skirmishers managed to open breaches in the enemy's defences, while Imperial battle mages tested their mettle against their corrupted counterparts, engulfing huge swathes of the battlefield in baleful sorcery. Meanwhile, flagellants and greatsword regiments recklessly waded into the fray, swinging their flails and giant blades, crushing heads and severing limbs and heroically killing scores upon scores of Chaos warriors while taking tremendous casualties in return.

"Hold fast!" Even from afar, Emperor Franz still could be heard shouting. "Prepare yourselves! A warherd approaches!"

Wolfhard was already running low on munitions, and the thought that he would have to face beastmen now made his heart sink.

"Do not despair!" It was Gelt shouting this time. Wolfhard could see him soaring above him on his pegasus, pointing his staff toward the distance. "I see the banners of Middenland over there! Graf Todbringer is coming to intercept the beastmen!"

The witch hunter's eyes widened. Elector Count Boris Todbringer's arrival would certainly tip the scales in the Empire's favour. Nevertheless, he cleared his thoughts and looked to his nearest foe. The Norscan berserker could be seen foaming at the mouth as he took a swing at Wolfhard, who shifted to the side and avoided the blow. The witch hunter surged forward and struck the side of the heretic's head with the stock of his gun, sending him hobbling back. Wolfhard then slung his weapon, drew a pair of pistols from his coat, and emptied both on the Norscan's chest and throat.

"AKASH SUR AKASH TARRH!" The mutant beastlord chief howled as the beastmen horde charged Franz's force.

"FOR MIDDENHEIM! FOR ULRIC!" Graf Todbringer bellowed in response as his own force moved to reinforce the emperor's men.

Just as the two new armies could clash, a large, ear-splitting explosion coming from the main Chaos force's rear flank obliterated a sizeable chunk of the forest and sent bits of charred wood flying everywhere. When the black powder smoke cleared, to everyone's surprise, a small force of heavily-armed dwarfs appeared. From the look of their sun-kissed complexions and surface-wandering equipment, they appeared to be rangers.

The leader of the unknown dwarfen force — a great-bearded, brown-maned ranger wielding a grudge-raker scattergun with a pair of ornate axes strapped to his back — smirked, raised his firearm to point in the air, and uttered a guttural battle cry as he blasted a round into the sky.

"KHAZUKAN KAZAKIT-HA!"

To Wolfhard's relief, the dwarfs quickly utilised the surprise and uncertainty they caused to attack the Chaos force's vulnerable rear flank, killing several of them with precise crossbow and handgun shots. The heretics, wedged between two attacking forces and cut off from their reinforcements by Graf Todbringer's force, started to waver and lose heart.

"Asvaldsson's staff! I must have it!" Wolfhard saw Supreme Patriarch Gelt swoop by with his pegasus, deeper into the guarded ranks of the enemy. He thought nothing of it since there were more pressing matters at hand, when Emperor Franz and Deathclaw suddenly surged past after the gold wizard.

The witch hunter parried an overhead blow from his Norscan foe with his longsword and used the loaded pistol in his free hand to shoot the heretic's chest. Wolfhard then brought his knee crashing against the Norscan's new gunshot wound, shoved him down on the ground, and plunged his steel into the man's heart. After prying his sword loose, Wolfhard made to intercept Franz and Gelt, when he heard a woman's voice calling for him.

"Hey!" Eloise moved up next to him on a battered destrier. The witch hunter grimaced at the state of his half-sister; her armour was dented, she sported new gashes on her face and arms, and her coat was slick with viscous, corrupted blood. "The supreme patriarch has gone mad! He disobeyed the emperor and went off to pursue Asvaldsson himself! Jump on, we must do what we can to help!" She offered him a hand.

Wolfhard was too tired to argue. He sheathed his sword, discarded the spent pistol and climbed on his sister's horse. After her brother had secured himself behind her, the witch huntress wasted no time pursuing the supreme patriarch's trail.

"Where in Sigmar's realm did these bloody dwarfs come from?" Eloise asked him as her warhorse cast aside or trampled over any heretics in the way. "I've half a mind to interrogate one after all this!"

"Just be grateful they're on our side, sister!" He responded with grit teeth.

After making their way through an entire battlefield, fighting their way through if necessary, the half-siblings eventually made it through a clearing in the woods, where the mangled and charred bodies of Chaos warriors lay by the dozens. Wolfhard and Eloise dismounted, drawing their weapons to bear. Wary of their grisly surroundings, the templars silently made their way across the bodies. Just when they were about to leave the area, Wolfhard heard the subtle shifting of armoured plates. Without warning Eloise, he whipped around, handgun on the foe.

Indeed, the hulking mountain of a man in black plates and chainmail seemed like a Chaos warrior at first glance, but the red wax seals and Morrite symbols pockmarking his armour and his cloak made out of bones and raven feathers betrayed his allegiance to the Empire as a Black Guard of Morr.

"Eloise, look. There's someone with us." Wolfhard tapped his half-sibling's arm before she could walk any further. Eloise seemed annoyed at first, but when she turned and saw the knight, a look of surprise and confusion crossed her face.

"Have you come to assist us, raven knight?" She asked, after some hesitation.

 _Of course he's come to assist us! What sort of inane question is that?_ Wolfhard had to put a hand over his mouth to keep himself from blurting out.

The Black Guard uttered nothing as expected of his kind, but he nodded nonetheless.

Eloise sighed and turned around. "Let's go, then. Before all is lost."

Wolfhard did not trust the Black Guard just yet, however. "You go, sir knight. I'll watch our backs."

The Black Guard uttered a muffled grunt and moved after Eloise. Wolfhard waited for a bit before following after the two of them, his gun pointed at the newcomer's back.

"You smell that?" Eloise, who led the way deeper into the woods, said.

"The corpses? Yes, I smell them." Wolfhard carefully walked over a tree's exposed root. He then skirted around the bisected body of a corrupted destrier.

The witch huntress turned to her shoulder to glare at him. "I wasn't talking about the damned corpses all around us, you idiot! It smells like bloody ozone around—"

There was a snap and the crackle of energy, then a stray bolt of blue lightning arced across the air and struck a tree near Eloise. The charred wood creaked and shuddered and tilted to its side, dangerously close to falling right on top of the witch huntress.

"Shallya's tears! ELOISE!" Wolfhard screamed. "GET CLEAR! NOW!"

Alas, the witch huntress was rendered blind and too dazed to notice her surroundings thanks to the lightning bolt exploding so close to her. The tree buckled again and finally fell.

Wolfhard grit his teeth and averted his eyes. After several seconds, his ears failed to hear the tree's impact on the ground. Mentally praying to Sigmar for his half-sister's life, the witch hunter snapped his eyes open and looked upon the scene in front of him.

"Grrgh!" The Black Guard of Morr was standing over Eloise, keeping the fallen tree from crushing the witch huntress by holding it up through sheer brute strength. The knight was shaking in his plates and seemed close to collapsing when he turned his helmed head to Wolfhard, wordlessly telling him to get moving.

Wolfhard quickly thanked Sigmar before rushing forth. He snatched Eloise by her shoulders and dragged her off to the side, letting her lean on a mossy boulder. After the templars had cleared off, the raven knight tossed the tree away, visibly grateful for having lost the weight on his shoulders. He then picked up his halberd from the ground and stood guard over the half-siblings.

"Eloise, can you hear me? Eloise!" The witch hunter shook the other templar. "Damn it, sister, wake up! We still have a job to do! Come on!"

"Urgh, stop shouting, for Sigmar's sake!" The witch huntress dazedly responded, though she seemed to be strong and cognisant enough to appear annoyed. "What just happened?"

Wolfhard scowled. He pointed to the fallen tree behind him with his thumb. "That bloody thing would've flattened you, if it weren't for our knight of Morr here."

All the annoyance seemed to go out of Eloise. She craned her head to better look up at the Black Guard standing over them. "I suppose... you have my thanks, sir knight."

The Black Guard nodded silently again. Unexpectedly, he reached out with his gauntleted hand, offering the witch huntress help to stand. Eloise, after a moment, took the hand.

"How very amusing." A disembodied voice declared, sending the three humans scrambling for their weapons. "Unfortunately, this mummer's play must soon come to an end! Slaanesh will be displeased, but I care little for the god of hedonists!"

Suddenly, a large group of Norscans appeared right in their midst, surrounding them from all sides. The three humans stood their ground as a minor sorcerer of Tzeentch appeared as the leader of this host, brandishing a staff that crackled in corrupted energies. Most notably, there were little feathery wings sprouting from his back.

"I'm giving you one chance to lay down your weapons and embrace my master, the true Everchosen of Chaos!" The sorcerer had a harsh, warbling voice. "My warriors surround you. One word from me, and they'll have you flayed and hung over these trees as a reminder to—"

 _Click._

"DEATH TO HERETICS!" Wolfhard spun the barrel, held the trigger, and emptied several shots on the heretic mage before anyone could make a move. The warriors of Chaos immediately charged the braced Imperials as their leader slowly succumbed to his gunshot wounds.

 **KARL FRANZ**

The emperor soared above the trees on his griffon, looking for signs as to where Gelt had flown off to. At last, when a bolt of blue lightning pierced the treeline and very nearly struck Deathclaw, Franz made the decision to land and search for the supreme patriarch on foot. After finding a clearing large enough to house a griffon, Franz disembarked and ordered Deathclaw to continue the search from the air.

"We will cover more ground that way, old friend," He said, stroking the griffon's head. "Be sure to come to me when you find something of note. Do you understand, Deathclaw?"

The great griffon screeched and bobbed his head up and down. He spread his wings and took flight immediately after, leaving the emperor by himself.

"Where are you, Gelt?" Franz muttered as his armoured feet took one step after another, deeper into the forest. He searched for more signs of fighting such as stray lightning bolts or streams of molten metal, and soon enough, a whinnying, riderless pegasus trotted past him before taking off into the air. Clutching Ghal Maraz tightly, Franz took off into a sprint, further and further into the shadowed woods.

Finally, after a few minutes of running, Franz came upon a grim sight. Trees singed with vile warpfire were everywhere, along with the stench of blood and ozone. A foreboding atmosphere pervaded the area, threatening to suffocate the emperor. With caution and a healthy amount of faith in Sigmar's protection, Franz advanced into the area.

"Wizard! Reveal yourself!" He called out. He cared not whether Gelt or Asvaldsson appeared. "I tire of this! Must I bring the entire Imperial State Army here?"

"That will not be necessary, Sigmarite." An ethereal voice responded from out of nowhere. Franz held up Ghal Maraz and scanned the area, looking for the voice's source. "You did not choose your strongest to be your supreme patriarch, I have noticed. The gold wizard is pathetic; weak-willed, predictable, greedy... most unworthy."

Franz had no patience for Asvaldsson's games. "Where is Gelt?" He shouted. "Show yourself, monster! Face me if you dare! Have I unmanned you enough to send you scurrying to the shadows before my approach?"

No response. Franz was prepared to go searching for the wizard, when footsteps from behind alerted him to a presence. He whirled around and stared down the foe... only to come upon Supreme Patriarch Gelt walking toward him... with his own golden sword poking out of his chest.

"Malefic..." He gasped. "...blasphemy..." The gold wizard collapsed on his knees.

Within an instant, Franz was near Gelt. He slung the supreme patriarch's arm over his shoulder and helped up him to sit, leaning on a tree behind him.

"I will not lie. This will hurt," The emperor warned as his hands closed around the hilt of the sword impaling Gelt. "Are you ready?"

"Go on," The gold wizard wheezed out. "Get it done with..."

Without further ado, Franz quickly pulled out the blade and tossed it away. Gelt audibly had to stifle a scream, but he did not react in any other way.

"You're not well enough to walk," The emperor said. He reached down his belt and unhooked a few flasks containing red fluids. "Here, use these to stop the blood from flowing too much. Stay here while I find and put an end to Asvaldsson."

"I'm well enough to fight," Gelt weakly protested. "I can..."

The wizard let his words trail off when the two men both heard shouting and explosions. Franz stood up and looked for threats all around the woods, but he did not find a single Chaos warrior. Bright muzzle flashes could be seen in the distance, however, signifying an Imperial or dwarf force engaged with a Norscan or mutant host.

"Sigmarite."

Franz slowly turned around. Just a few paces in front of him lied Arnolf Asvaldsson, the sorcerer lord of Tzeentch. He used to be a man, but now, the trickster god of Chaos had mutated him in ways so grotesque, it was a wonder he still possessed the ability to speak and articulate. The closest thing he resembled was a man-shaped bird of prey in dark blue plate armour, carrying a jagged sword in one hand, and a Tzeentchian staff in the other.

"I have had a look at the battlefield we left behind, and I must say, I am most astonished at the boldness and tenacity of your troops. How unusual it must be that common soldiers impress me more than this piteous supreme patriarch of yours." Asvaldsson screeched, his beak twitching with every word out of his mouth. "Should I take no action, in a few moments, I am sure my host will be wiped out."

"In a few moments, you'd be dead by my hands, heretic." Franz snarled.

"Perhaps." The sorcerer lord bobbed his head up and down, much like a bird would. "However, should I succeed in obliterating you and your pet gold wizard this day, victory in the field will belong to me. I can feel that your subjects admire you, Sigmarite. They will not accept your death with grace. They will die with their hopes crushed and despair in their hearts. They will know the Empire is lost, and the Old World will be next."

The emperor looked down at Gelt. The supreme patriarch had gone out cold, but he was still clutching an empty health flask. Scowling, he looked back to the heretic.

"Then what are we waiting for?" He asked. "Come, wizard. Come and meet your end."

Asvaldsson let out a breathless, birdlike chuckle. "Yes. Let us begin." Without shifting from his neutral stance, he lifted his sword and pointed it at Franz.

With a cry of "For the Empire!", Karl Franz charged the sorcerer lord. He was halfway to his foe, when a bolt of lightning erupted from the tip of Asvaldsson's blade and struck the emperor by the breastplate, knocking him down on his knee. Asvaldsson lifted his staff and channelled another spell, and by the time Franz got back up on his feet, he found himself assailed by an entire six-daemon group of Tzeentchian pink horrors that emerged from a portal Asvaldsson had conjured next to him.

Confident in his abilities, Franz continued to charge. As he neared a horror, he smashed the daemon across the face with his warhammer, banishing it. He then evaded a doombolt heading his way before striking the vile thing with Ghal Maraz's pommel, causing it to whirl around, dazed. The four other daemons unleashed a hail of doombolts at the emperor, and he was quick to react by grabbing hold of the disoriented horror and holding it up as an impromptu shield to block the projectiles flung by its comrades. By the time his captive daemon exploded from too much punishment, Franz was already on the other horrors. With four crushing strikes, he banished each one back into Tzeentch's domain.

"Very impressive." Asvaldsson crooned after the emperor had purged the last of his daemons. "Such a skilled warrior deserves rewards. On your knees."

Franz had just enough time to look Asvaldsson's way before he was struck by another bolt of lightning. He managed to maintain his footing this time, but a third bolt managed to overpower the Silver Seal, preventing the artifact from fully protecting the emperor. Franz could not help but scream in pain as raw Tzeentchian energy coursed through him. He dropped to his knees as Ghal Maraz slipped from his spasming fingers.

The sorcerer lord of Tzeentch casually walked to the emperor's kneeling form. He looked down on his foe. "Astounding. You should not be able to sustain such power forcing itself into your body without mutating at the very least." He said, his voice remaining a monotone. "No matter. A bolt of change should soon rectify that."

Franz tried to reach for Ghal Maraz on the ground beside him, but his convulsing body would not respond the way he wanted it. Looming above him, Asvaldsson started to channel one final spell to put him down. The emperor silently called out to Sigmar, to give him the strength necessary to destroy this heretic and finally rid Ostland of Chaos once and for all. He called out to his god the same way he did as he lay wounded before the greenskin warlord, Vorbad Ironjaw. His prayers were sincere, and he hoped they would not be ignored.

Just as the Third Battle of Blackfire Pass, deliverance came to Franz at the very final moment, only not in the way he expected it. An arrow sailed from the shadows of the woods and impaled Alvarsson by the back of his neck, causing him to abruptly drop his spell and his weapons. Black, corrupted blood gushed out from the sorcerer lord's skewered throat, and his pathetic attempts to keep the fluids in by clutching at his neck did not help.

Figuring that Sigmar had just given him the opportunity to strike, Franz banished his weakness through sheer willpower alone. He reached down the Reikland Runefang's beautiful gromril hilt, and with one great tug, unsheathed the mastercrafted zweihander from its sheath. No longer hindered by the foul sorceries still clogging his bloodstream, Franz stood up. He towered over the sorcerer lord in his great height, he now realised. With hands that trembled with fury he reserved for heretics like Asvaldsson, Franz kicked the sorcerer lord's leg from under him, causing him to fall down and drop to his knees. Still, the sorcerer lord looked up at the emperor, defiance in his beady, black-irised eyes.

Emperor Franz roared as he brought the Runefang down and plunged it deep into Asvaldsson's shoulder, in a twisted mockery of a knighting. The sorcerer lord's feathery hands immediately went from his bleeding neck to the blade stuck into his flesh, the arrow lodged in his throat all but forgotten. Clenching his teeth together, Franz then pulled his blade away and once again, held it above his head, in preparation for the most decisive blow of all.

"FOR **HELDENHAMMER**!" The emperor swung the Reikland Runefang and struck Asvaldsson by the neck. Such was his strength and such was the sharpness of his dwarfen zweihander, the heavy-handed blow effortlessly swept the sorcerer lord's thick, mutated head clean off his shoulders. The fountain of tainted blood spurting from the grotesque stump he created splattered all over Emperor Franz, painting his armour in more shades of black and crimson than it already had.

Time seemed to slow down after that. A feeling of lightheadedness descended upon the emperor, making him weary all the sudden, as if all the adrenaline and bloodlust had just left him. Indeed, the colours of the forest seemed to drain away, leaving everything in shades of black and grey. Franz tried to move his arms, but they would not move. He tried to shift his entire body to survey his strange surroundings, but it would not respond to his commands.

Far ahead, into the distance, he could finally see the one who delivered the arrow to Asvaldsson's throat, now that the shadows acting as her veil had been dispelled. It was the wood elven waystalker — she who vowed to keep him safe come what may.

 _What is happening?_ he could only ask himself. Everything stood still; even Asvaldsson's head was still in the air, completely frozen in place. Nothing in his sight moved in any way, except for a faint shimmering at the edge of his vision. Soon, that shimmering grew closer and shone brighter and brighter, so much that his eyes stung at the sight of it. Not a moment too soon, Franz finally saw the source of the light that threatened to blind him when it quite literally sauntered into his line of sight.

It was the most beautiful maiden Franz had ever the ill-deserved pleasure of looking upon. She wore a white, hooded dress that did a poor job at concealing her sultry, curvaceous form. Her skin was the colour of cream, her eyes were as green as iridescent emeralds and her hair was long and silvery. There was an ornate horn hanging from a strap by her side, and she seemed to carry a glass filled with a clear, sparkling red fluid, presumably wine.

None of all this, however, interested Franz more than the long and pointed ears the maiden possessed.

"It is cold this time of the year, Karl Franz von Holswig-Schliesten." The elven creature declared with a warm, though quite mischievous smile. "Winter is coming, don't you think?"

With those ominous words and a wink, Emperor Franz found himself suddenly blinded by a bright flash of light. For what seemed like an eternity, he saw nothing but whiteness.

* * *

 **End of Prologue**

* * *

 _Author's notes: Hello, everybody! My name is Georgiy, but you can call me by my name on other sites: Jora! To those who don't know, I'm not actually the guy who created this account I'm using to submit this story (I proofread his stuff! His English isn't very good, unfortunately). He's pretty busy with his work, and I know he is having technical problems due to not having access to a reliable typing device at the moment. Why am I using this account and not my own, you ask? Well, I don't have one as a matter of fact, and I'm too lazy. Besides, I think it's better to publish works under the name of an already established author. It will attract more readers that way!_

 _Anyway, as for the story itself, I actually had plans for making something like this several years ago, but I did not feel too enthusiastic about Warhammer Fantasy back then, so I stuck with run-of-the-mill ASoIAF fanfiction (sorry, GRRM). However, when the End Times came and went, destroying the WHFB universe with it, I felt kinda bad. That was part of my childhood GW just destroyed, y'know? When games like Vermintide and Total War: WARHAMMER came out, I felt inspired to make something out of the Old World, then quickly have it transplanted smack-dab into a land with less war and a lot more politics and backstabbing. One could argue that Franz already had to deal with Game of Thrones-level courtroom intrigue while he was still consolidating his hold on the Imperial crown (not to mention the Tileans might have it worse), we can't really know for sure, what with the little lore released about how backroom politics worked in the Empire (I might be wrong about this, though. I haven't had a look at the lore in a long while)._

 _Okay, that should be enough for today. Can you guess where Emperor Franz and his men would appear in the Known World? Most would probably like them to be in the Stark lands like what most crossovers do, but I think I'll go for something a bit different._

 _Here's the disclaimer: Warhammer is the property of Games Workshop. A Song of Ice and Fire is the property of George R. R. Martin._


	2. What Now?

**KRUBER**

"Gods spit on you, heretic!" Captain Markus Kruber heaved his greatsword high and struck a Norscan raider's arm just before the heretic could bring it down and cleave the captain's head with his hand-axe. The Norscan stared at his now-bleeding stump, as if in shock.

Kruber wasted no time. He lunged forth and jabbed the pommel of his blade into the one-armed man's abdomen, staggering him. Kruber then reached back and bashed the Norscan's head with his crossguard and hilt, causing him to whirl away in a dazed state, helpless to stop Kruber from plunging the length of his zweihander deep into his back.

"Come get some, goat-man! I'll use your milk for my cheese, your horns for holding my ale, and your bladder to kick across a mountain for my own amusement! Hah-har!" Khoril Rudriksson taunted his gor foe as he twirled his greataxe around theatrically. The beastman, incensed at the insult, roared as it charged the dwarf giantslayer with its head hung low, intending to gore its diminutive foe with its horns. Khoril, in response, merely hefted his weapon and brought it crashing down at the last moment before impact, burying the giant axe deep into the gor's skull and forcing it down on the ground, its head cleaved in two.

"It's just you and me against this horde, Kruber!" The giantslayer jubilantly called out as he extracted his axe from the beastman's corpse. "Just like Gotrek Gurnisson and his pet golden-haired manling! Huh-hah-har!"

Kruber pulled his blade out of another raider's body. _One more foe vanquished_ , he thought. Looking ahead, he saw at least two dozen more Norscans advancing on his position, with more on the way.

 _Great,_ the captain, though exhausted and pushed to his breaking point, was not afraid to meet his end. In fact, he _relished_ the challenge. _Here I go again..._

"Hold it there, azumgi!"

Kruber's eyes widened like saucers at the familiar high-pitched voice. He looked down to his side and found a brown-haired dwarf ranger, bruised and bloodied from hours of continuous fighting, but still raring for a fight. This one, judging from his distinctive voice, equipment and bearing, seemed to be the leader of the other dwarfs.

"Can't let you and the ungrim have all the fun now, do we?" The dwarf laughed as he brought his grudge-raker scattergun to bear, staring intently at the advancing horde of heretics and mutants.

"Watch your tongue around the manlings, ranger." Khoril briefly looked the ranger's way. "In case you've forgotten because of all the fresh air polluting your lungs and rotting your brain, Khazalid is not to be spoken around non-dwarfs!"

The ranger scoffed at that with another laugh. "Hah! Lighten up, ya wazzock! We rangers do what we like!"

"Master Goreksson?" Unconsciously, Kruber mouthed out.

That drew a wary look from the dwarf ranger to him. "Eh? Ye know my cousin Bardin?"

"I'll SWALLOW your SOUL, son of Sigmar!" The first Norscan howled as he advanced on Kruber, causing the captain's next few words to die in his mouth.

Kruber twisted to the side and expertly caught the heretic's blade with one of his zweihander's curved parrying hooks. He twisted his grip and tugged, tearing the Norscan's sword from his grasp. Kruber, feeling he had the upper hand, swung out and tried to decapitate his foe with one swift motion. However, he did not expect the ranger to blast the Norscan away with his grudge-raker before he could land the killing blow.

Kruber grimaced. He turned his body to prepare for the next batch of foes, when suddenly, a bright light engulfed his vision, blinding him completely.

"Ah, my eyes! My eyes, ungrim! I can't bloody well see!"

"Shut up, ranger! Fight without your eyes, if you have to! And stop speaking Khazalid!"

He could still hear the two dwarfs' voices, however. From the shouting and panicked screams coming from all around, the barbarians he was about to face and his nearby Imperial allies seemed to be blinded by the light as well. When his eyes finally started to adjust and recover from their blindness, matters took a turn for the strange.

It was already bitingly cold thanks to Kaldezeit starting, but now, it was downright _freezing._ Kruber's entire body felt like it was beset by a mild blizzard, not unlike his first time in an expeditionary force to the shores of Norsca. When he rubbed his eyes and beheld his new surroundings for the first time, Kruber was shocked. The Forest of Shadows was as dense was before, but now it was completely covered in snow. He grit his teeth in anger; he was reminded of the deaths of his comrades years ago, in the very same province he was in.

"Foul sorceries!" Kruber was quick to cry out, uttering a string of curses immediately after.

The heretics and barbarians had somehow gained access to Kislevite ice magic, and had transformed the surroundings to suit them better. He turned his head to the foes in question and was just about ready to sever a few heads in his wrath, but all his anger immediately dissipated and gave way to surprise when he took in the sight of his enemies in strangely lethargic states.

"Aruiby..." A bestigor wheezed and snorted uncontrollably before losing its balance and keeling over on the ground like cattle succumbing to a lethal disease.

"Tzeentch... take you..." One of the barbarians lunged at Kruber. His blow was so pathetically executed and slow, Kruber had to actually remind himself to parry it, which he did so with embarrassing ease. The usual feeling of triumph as he wrenched the heretic's weapon from his hands and impaled his head with a thrust of his blade was not there, since there was no challenge to it.

"I'll... strip the flesh... from your bones..." Another Norscan _attempted_ to have a swing at Khoril, but he couldn't seem to find the strength to reach down and strike. The forward momentum he gathered, how little of it, propelled him toward the slayer's feet as he missed his clumsy blow. The orange-haired dwarf, more bemused than anything, heaved his axe and decapitated the heretic before he could push himself up to stand.

"Alright, just what in Taal's name is going on?" Kruber asked out loud in confused frustration. "You heretics are supposed to try and kill us as your despicable gods command, _not_ stumble around, hoping not to fall on your own blades while you're at it! Look at you! Even a bloody _gnoblar_ can strike you down!"

"Asinine... mortal!" A third heretic stared down the captain in defiance despite his difficulty at lifting his halberd, which he used to swing around effortlessly. Visibly, his huge muscled body seemed to sag, and the fiery light of Chaos in his eyes slowly vanished. "You have... severed us! With... with our gods! I can feel it... what have you... what have you done?!"

"Aye, that's just pitiful, that is." The ranger despite being surrounded by heretics, actually felt safe enough to slowly reload his handgun. "Without your gods, you're even more pathetic than cowardly thaggoraki! Bah, certainly not worth _my_ time..."

"Neither mine." Khoril agreed. "I'd rather accidentally die to an elven maiden at this point. I might even get a less embarrassing song out of my death that way."

The dwarfs' comments seemed to drive the Norscans and the beastmen into a rage, albeit an impotent one. They all charged at their three exhausted foes, but the uncoordinated, severely-weakened Norscans proved a poor match compared to a battle-hardened state trooper, a wandering dwarf who regularly killed giants, and a veteran ranger with a scattergun. Within minutes, all around the snowy battlefield, Emperor Franz's force and those of his allies had either killed or taken the rest of the Tzeentchian warhost captive.

"The forest is ours once again, captain! The wounded are being tended to and the prisoners are bound and awaiting Emperor Franz's judgement, as per Graf von Raukov's orders." Much later, after all the fighting had died down, a state trooper sergeant reported to Kruber in one of the more busy parts of the makeshift camp the Imperials set up in the frozen woods.

The man, evidently a low-class Reiklander like Kruber, shivered after delivering his report. "It's still bloody cold, though."

"Reminds you of Norsca, doesn't it?" Kruber jested, thankful for what little insulation his autumn uniform provided. "But this isn't Norsca, though. The heretics didn't seem familiar with this place, which means we're probably still in Ostland... just that winter's come early, it seems."

"Nothing makes sense, sir." The sergeant shook his head. "What was that bright flash of light? Did somebody cast a spell, perhaps some passing Kislevite ice wizard whom had just fled the field? And why did the norsemen fight like drunken Ulricans back then? We were barely holding our ground one moment, and in the next we were decimating them like they weren't nothing."

"Maybe Sigmar intervened, keeping the dark gods from empowering their followers..." Kruber suggested. He wiped his runny nose and sighed. "It doesn't matter, sergeant. They've lost, and we've won. Ostland should be safe now... I hope."

* * *

 **KARL FRANZ**

The whiteness eventually subsided, and his vision slowly adjusted. Emperor Karl Franz could feel his control over his own body returning, and when Asvaldsson's head and body hit the ground, the emperor knew time had started to run its course once again. Figuring that he was correct in his assumption that the vision of the impossibly-beautiful elven maiden he just witnessed was merely a meaningless illusion, Franz decided to look around. Everything seemed to be as it was before... save for the mind-numbing cold and the forest now covered in snow.

Experimentally, Franz moved his arms around just to make sure he had full control of his limbs. Once he was satisfied, he wiped the corrupted blood soaking his Runefang before sheathing it by his side. After retrieving Ghal Maraz from the snow, Emperor Franz moved to investigate his environment's inexplicable, wintry shift. He was a few steps forward when his ears picked up the sound of snow being crushed underfoot by feet that weren't his own.

"Where in Lileath's name are we?"

Franz turned to his side and saw the elf cautiously moving toward him, bow and arrow in her hands. This time, she had her hood covering her head, with her ponytail poking out of a large hole she made at the back of the darkened grey cloth. As Franz observed the waystalker take each of her steps, her feet sunk into the thick layer of snow covering the ground, which often reached up to her shins.

The emperor acknowledged the wood elven woman's presence with a nod before turning to look around once more. Most of the trees that provided his surroundings were bare and either dead or simply dormant, having been blanketed by heavy snow. His first thoughts turned to Kislevite ice magic as the source of his new wintry environment, but when he pivoted to where he left Supreme Patriarch Balthasar Gelt, Franz knew something was wrong.

"Did you not leave this idiot with his back to a tree?" The waystalker must have noticed Franz's perplexed expression.

Franz grimaced. "I did."

Without further ado, the emperor walked up next to Gelt and crouched down, examining the gold wizard's wounds. For reasons that yet eluded Franz, Gelt wasn't leaning on a tree anymore; he was on his back to the snow, the tree behind him having vanished out of existence.

"His condition is worsening," The emperor observed. He placed Gelt's arm around his shoulder and hoisted him up. "We need to find a jade wizard. He's not going to last very long with the wounds he sustained and this blasted environment. Come on, let's—"

A griffon's screech was heard, interrupting Franz. Second later, Deathclaw glided down nearby and flattened a few trees to make a clearing large enough for him to land on.

The elf flinched at the sight. "...I can't say I approve of what your beast had just done, human. To fell down trees and leave them wasted and unused is considered a crime to my kind. Had those trees been in Athel Loren, I would not hesitate to—"

"Deathclaw!" A wave of relief washed down Franz as his griffon companion bounded over to him, looking happy as could be to see his master once more. It saddened the emperor to give the noble beast his new directive. "I am loathe to part ways with you again, old friend, but I need you to take Gelt to a healer."

The elf was puzzled at that. "Why do you have to get your beast to do that? I'm sure there is enough room on a griffon's back for two humans." She spoke in a patronising manner. "Take the wizard to a healer yourself; I'll find my path out of this forest on my own."

"I'm not about to let you brave these treacherous woods all by yourself, waystalker." Franz looked behind his shoulder. He spoke in a severe tone that brook no arguments. "I'll have Deathclaw leave this place with Gelt since time is of essence in his condition... but the two of us shall go on foot."

The elf's eyes narrowed at Franz. "You insult me. I can keep myself safe in these woods just fine, short-lifer. I don't want to wait for you to catch up every few minutes."

Franz ignored her. He climbed Deathclaw's back and secured the unconscious supreme patriarch to the saddle. After making sure Gelt wouldn't fall while in the air, Franz climbed back down and stroked the griffon's neck.

"Worry not. I'll be safe, old friend." He said, soothingly. Deathclaw was unhappy with the emperor's decision, but the loyal creature soon turned around and took to the skies, leaving Franz alone with his wood elven "protector".

"This... this is a mistake." She said, plainly annoyed. "There's no need for you to risk yourself coming with me."

"As emperor, I make it a habit to help my allies whenever I can, with whatever I can." Franz smoothly replied. "Now, come on. This way." He started to navigate the woods, and the elf was forced to walk along with him.

Together, the two of them tried to find their path along the white forest. On the way, they encountered frozen bodies of water, unfamiliar-looking trees and wildlife such as elk, foxes, and even bears, but the animals paid them no mind and gave them a wide berth as they passed by. The forest was as dense as ever, but as time passed by, it only seemed to get thicker and thicker.

"I suppose I should thank you for putting an arrow in Asvaldsson's neck before he could cast that spell, waystalker." Karl Franz began as he continued leading the way. "I'd rather die pure than live as a mutant of Chaos."

"As I told you, my duty is to keep you safe... not just alive." The elf coolly responded, trying to sound uninterested in conversation. "I do not intend to fail my queen's command. King Orion's wrath will be... severe."

"I didn't know you elves cared." Franz cast aside a low-hanging branch.

"I certainly don't." She scoffed as she ducked under the same branch. "But my lords do. More than you know, human."

"Hmph." The emperor frowned.

The two of them were silent for a while. Franz expected to come across groups of stragglers from Asvaldsson's warhost, but none came in sight. _Perhaps the elf is safe here, after all..._

"Tell me this, human..." This time, it was the elf that initiated a conversation. "Do you believe the Everchosen can be stopped; that the End Times can be averted once again?"

Franz did not answer for some time. "Of course. As Magnus the Pious did it once, the Empire shall stand as one and defy the dark gods for a second time."

"Then you are a fool to believe that the forces of the dark gods can be so easily repulsed." The elf bitterly replied. "This Everchosen is much stronger than the previous one. He has already destroyed one nation of barbarians, and he will stop at nothing until all that remained of the Empire are ashes and embers. You are only delaying the inevitable end of your already-dying nation, and unlike you, I do not delude myself with childish optimism and bravado as I fight for your doomed cause. You will be killed in battle one day, human... but before that day comes, I will be dead. I swear it."

Franz's dark mood did not lighten. "Should we fail the Empire, I have no doubts that the rest of this existence would be consumed not long after. Since this is the only world we have, the consequences of the dark gods' victory are simply unthinkable, and I will not stand idle while Archaon burned down everything I cherished around me. I swore to my people that so long as I still draw breath, waystalker, I will _never_ let Chaos win... and it is only right that you forest folk should stop contributing nothing to the ultimate cause and do the same as what we men of the Empire do: fight for our right to live."

"If it's the will of the gods to let the world end, then so be it." The elf did not seem convinced. "Who are we mere mortals to defy the likes of them?"

"The will of _your_ craven gods, perhaps. Unlike them, my gods intend on fighting Chaos until the very end, come what may." Franz said. His temper was starting to rise, keeping him warm.

"Hah! Your barbarian gods are nothing compared to the likes of Lileath and Isha." From the sound of her tone, the elf was getting just as irritated. "Hmph. Barbarian gods for a barbarian people. I'm certain this is no coincidence."

"You might look down on us as barbarians, but do not forget that it is our nation that stands in the path of Chaos to your precious Athel Loren!" Insulted, Franz snapped.

"But that's not all, no. My soldiers also march on wandering brayherds and greenskin raiders before they could ever step foot in your territory, and my diplomats regularly implore the dwarfs of the Karaz Ankor to decide against _invading_ you in retaliation for all the many slights you've _carelessly_ accumulated in the Great Book of Grudges! You accursed elves should be treating the Empire with _respect_ for everything we do in the name of preserving your damnable magic forest, but all you offer us is _scorn_!"

"You expect something as valuable as _respect_ from the _asrai_? Don't make me laugh! With each new day, you humans disrespect the forests all around you _just_ to fill your coffers and fuel your meaningless industry! You pollute the lands and scatter your filth, take what you want and give _nothing_ in return, just like the dwarfs! Truly, you short-lifers are every bit as dense as Drycha and Durthu believed! Your wretched species is a blight upon nature! Only Lileath knows what sort of worth Ariel sees in you!"

The two of them continued to argue about a multitude of things as they cut a path through the woods. Time seemed to pass quickly as more heated words and even threats were exchanged.

"You humans are _so_ arrogant and insufferable!"

"Elf, are you even aware of what _you_ just said?!"

"Pfeh! You mistake me for Finubar's self-absorbed ilk!"

Franz's patience had finally worn out. "The only mistake I made is letting an insolent elf in my retinue! From now on, consider yourself—"

"If you don't want my help, then so be it!" The elf shouted. "The gods know there are better uses for my dwindling time! I will—"

"Quiet." The emperor held up a gauntleted hand, cutting off the elf. He took a few careful steps forward, wary of his surroundings. He was just a few more paces to an old, peculiar-looking cluster of similar-looking white trees when he stopped and turned around to glance at his only company.

"I don't think faces belong on those trees..." He gestured at the woods in question.

The waystalker narrowed her eyes. She slowly approached the emperor. "The trees have faces? Human, what sort of game are you... oh."

It was surreal. The cluster of trees were bone-white in colour, and their leaves were the same colour as blood. They looked ominous enough, but the scowling faces carved into their trunks were downright disturbing. They did not look like the work of men, or elves.

"Something is amiss in this forest, elf... I'm starting to have doubts we are even in the Forest of Shadows at all." Franz spoke grimly. "We should keep moving."

The waystalker silently complied, walking after the emperor. Another hour of silence passed between them; the journey they tread had them seeing more and more of the strange carved trees, and even the tattered remnants of human camps, along with skeletons partially buried in the snow, picked clean by animals and bleached white by years of being exposed to the sun's glare.

Franz felt the forest's desolation suffocating, and even the wood elf seemed to find the woods uncomfortable. Even something as familiar as a group of rabid Norscans looking for a fight would lighten the emperor's mood and he'd get some combat practice to boot, but alas, no such thing was in sight. Swallowing his pride, Franz resolved to calm himself by once again... talking.

"Elf," He began, uncertainly.

"What is it now, short-lifer?" She responded, trying to mask her unease with irritation.

"I..." It was surprisingly hard for Franz to speak; he started to regret opening his mouth, but it was too late to turn back now.

"I have worked... _so_ hard, sacrificed so much, saw too many good men die before my own eyes, and made too many promises to lose hope in my cause now... and hearing you speak of how pointless my efforts are in the name of defending the Empire infuriated me. I lost myself. I have forgotten you still are on the side of good — the side of righteousness. I apologise for my words and my improper behaviour. It is... unbecoming of an emperor... a leader."

The elf was silent. Franz shook his head and sighed, resolving to remain quiet from now on.

"...perhaps you're not as insufferable as I previously thought." She suddenly spoke up, surprising the emperor.

"To tell you the truth, I..." The waystalker hesitated. "Never you mind. I accept your apology... though I feel I must apologise as well."

She took in a deep breath before continuing, "You see, human, I have met many of your predecessors during my infrequent visits to your Empire, and I found each and every one of them to be incompetent, vain, cowardly, greedy, slothful, or any combination thereof. With each new emperor's ascension, even a child could see how your Empire weakened more and more. Queen Ariel believes you to be different, but I refused to believe her, thinking you unworthy of my protection. Your nation is doomed, I told her. Why bother with yet another wastrel on the Imperial throne?"

Franz nodded solemnly. "Apology accepted, I suppose. If I may be so bold as to ask, do you still believe the Empire is doomed?"

"Of course I still do." The elf sardonically replied. "But I see now that my queen is right. You are not a wastrel. You are... acceptable... for an emperor."

"I'll assume that's the best praise one would get out of you." Franz sighed in mock-exasperation, detecting the sarcastic, teasing tone she used with him. "One day, waystalker... one day, I will prove you wrong about the Empire, Sigmar willing. But before that day comes, I suggest we start over from the beginning, now that we are resigned with each other's company for the rest of the End Times."

"Me? Resigned with _your_ company? Hardly." The elf, as Franz observed, had an acerbic tongue once she started talking in length. "But I suppose it's for the best. Go on, then. Pointlessly introduce yourself to me."

The emperor suppressed a mocking laugh, took in a deep breath, and exhaled. "I, as you know, was named by my father Emperor Luitpold I as Karl Franz I, of the noble House von Holswig-Schliesten. I am married to a noblewoman from House Steinhäusser by the name of Saskia, and I have two children with her: Prince Luitpold II and Princess Sieghilde IV. I worship Sigmar, but I also revere Verena's justice, and pay homage to Shallya's mercy whenever I can. It is your turn, elf."

The waystalker paused for some time. "... Hmh. It has been decades since I bothered to recall the name I was given, Karl Franz. I believe I am called Aureleth, waystalker of Atylwyth the Winterheart. I have never taken a husband, and I have no children to call my own. I am not a member of the nobility. Lileath is my patron goddess, and I turn to Isha and Morai-heg as well for wisdom and strength."

Franz thought all the new information fascinating, but one piece caught his attention the most. "You "believe" you are called by the name of Aureleth, daughter of Atylwyth?"

Aureleth nodded uncertainly. "As a waystalker, I spend my days secluded in the eternally frozen deepwood, far and away from most of my kin. More often than not, my only company are the birds nesting on the branches above me..." The wood elf said, sounding vaguely wistful. "I have been observing the paths leading to Athel Loren and communing with the forest for a long time... long enough to forget my own name, as I've no uses for it. As a matter of fact, I am unsure if Aureleth is what I am truly called..."

"I'll remind you of it, should you forget again." Franz said. "As for myself, the life of an emperor could be just as lonely. As Magnus once said, emperors have no equals... only subjects to rule, lands to protect, laws to uphold... and an endless sea of petitions to pass or reject."

"You still have your griffon, though."

"...and you had your warhawk. I'm sorry for your loss."

The waystalker looked down for a while. "All things die." She sighed and looked back to the road ahead. "I don't need your pity, Karl Franz."

The emperor nodded, realising that the conversation was at an end. "Of course."

There was another long period of silence. The woods gradually started to thin out, and the sun's rays once again began to shine down on Franz and Aureleth.

"Ho there!" Someone had called out to them in Reikspiel. The emperor and the waystalker both turned to look at a ragged group of humans, consisting of two familiar witch hunter siblings, one tall raven knight of Morr, and at least seven Norscans in chains, handcuffs and mouth-gags.

"Good to see you alive and well, your imperial majesty!" Franz recognized Eloise von Mannstedt as she bounded over to him. Her unusually happy expression soured a bit when she noticed the elf, and it quickly gave over to confusion when she saw no signs of Balthasar Gelt. "If I may ask, what happened to the supreme patriarch?"

"He was severely injured after his altercation with Asvaldsson, so I ordered Deathclaw to fly him over to a jade wizard. Graf von Raukov's force should have one ready to heal our gold wizard back into shape." The emperor nonchalantly replied. "But enough about Gelt," He removed his left gauntleted hand from his warhammer and pointed to the Norscans with it.

"Why are these heretics in chains? I offer no mercy to those who willingly consort with the dark gods of Chaos, von Mannstedt. You should know this well."

The witch huntress nodded. "Of course, my emperor. I'd show these northmen scum the tip of my rapier just as well, had I not found them curiously deprived of all their Chaos-granted strength and abilities. One moment and they were fighting like the fierce warriors Norscans are so known for, but in the next, they fought like children and we easily subdued them. It's as if their connection to the dark gods had been... severed somehow. This warrants investigation, I say."

"Truly?" Emperor Franz looked at the templar dubiously, then to the Norscans in question. "Make room and free one of them."

"Your majesty?" Wolfhard Richter stepped forth, looking confused.

"Do it." Franz pressed. "Your emperor commands it."

With that said, the Black Guard silently herded six of the gagged Norscans away, while von Mannstedt fished out her key from the inside of her coat. She then walked up to the heretic the knight had left behind and nervously started to remove his chains and cuffs. Behind them, Richter propped himself up an elevated position and took aim on the Norscan with his repeater handgun.

"The emperor... had just spared your pathetic, Chaos-worshipping life, heretic." Von Mannstedt's voice trembled with barely-constrained fury as she removed the man's bindings. "You'd do well to—"

"Sigmar's whore!"

As soon as the heretic's cuffs, mouth-gag and chains were removed, predictably, the norseman tried to attack. He pulled his arm back and tried to strike von Mannstedt with the back of his mailed hand, but she saw it coming and grabbed hold of the offending limb before it could hit her. Scowling, the witch huntress twisted her gloved hand and surprisingly, her strength proved enough to break the bones inside the Norscan's arm, judging from the disturbing sounds it made.

The heretic cried out in agony. Von Mannstedt silenced him by jabbing his throat with her plate-armoured elbow, causing him to hobble away before falling down on his rear and emptying the wretched contents of his stomach into his lap. Von Mannstedt stomped over to the Norscan and kicked him a few times with her steel-capped boots, eliciting more than a few pained grunts and squeals from the downed man.

"I have never seen Norscan raiders reduced to such a pitiful state, and I have seen a great many things." Aureleth had said, looking down on the heretic wallowing in his own filth with disdain. "Something had sapped them of their strength indeed... not that I'm complaining."

Franz silently agreed. When von Mannstedt had punished him enough and backed away, the Norscan tried to get back up on his feet. Unfortunately, his clumsy attempts at it only made him trip on his vomit a couple of times before he could finally stand.

"You Sigmarites... will get what's... what's coming to you! This is all... all according to Tzeentch's plan!" Spittle and vomit flew from the Norscan's mouth as he wheezed out his words.

"Save your breath, norseman. Your loathesome gods have abandoned you like the disposable pawn you are, and now there's nothing left for you but oblivion." Franz said, contempt plain in his voice. He looked to the witch huntress. "Von Mannstedt, dispose of this wretch."

The witch huntress said nothing. She pulled out a tiny pistol from her coat sleeve, took aim and fired. The Norscan died instantly, with a new hole through his forehead.

"Let's go." Without a second thought, Franz started moving along his path again. "We must not waste any more time. I believe I'd like to see just how my army fares."

Thus did the two templars, the Black Guard and their captives join the emperor and the elf as they marched forth, seeking their comrades in the Imperial State Army. Thankfully, it was only another kilometre of forest before the first plumes of campfire smoke was spotted. Franz could see Deathclaw darting across the skies, no longer carrying Gelt on his saddle.

"Halt! Who goes there!" The state trooper standing guard near the camp entrance cried out as the mismatched group neared.

"Make way and alert the men of Emperor Franz's return, corporal." Von Mannstedt answered for Franz. "Wolfhard, can you watch over our prisoners for me? I need to fetch my "tools" so we can begin with the interrogations."

Richter grimaced. "Yes, yes. Sure. Be quick about it, I need to get new shot and powder for my guns."

Von Mannstedt dismissively waved her arm as she sauntered away in a different direction in the camp. Franz did not wait for her, rather he continued to walk deeper and deeper into the camp until he found the elector count he was looking for at last.

Graf Boris Todbringer, when not fighting the Empire's foes, was a jolly, gregarious man. Indeed, Franz found the one-eyed elector count drinking ale and laughing with his blue-clad Middenlander soldiers around a large bonfire. Closer inspection of the fire revealed it was kept alive by the corpses of three Norscans, five mutant warhounds and a minotaur.

"Your imperial majesty!" The graf grinned and called the emperor over. "Come sit with us! We've won a great battle this day, aye! Those filthy mutants would think twice attacking Ostland now, har!"

"Hail to the Winter Wolf, Todbringer." Franz greeted back as he approached. "Though we did not anticipate you coming to our aid, I thank you for your timely arrival nonetheless. Tell me, have your men burned every Norscan and beastman body? I don't want their husks persisting to corrupt the soil from under them. And where is von Raukov?"

"Indeed we have! Their weapons and armour, too!" Todbringer nodded as he handed Franz a spare tankard overflowing with Middenlander ale. "The other graf should be to the southwest of the camp, talking with his own men. His men took the most losses and I recall seeing him losing an ear in a mounted fight with a bray-shaman on a tuskgor, but he seems to be in good health otherwise. I was just about to have my men check on— hmh, and who is this now?"

It was then that the graf noticed the unusual appearance of the enigmatic, hooded waystalker standing in silence just behind the emperor. "Heh. Franz, it certainly looks like _someone_ in your retinue needs a bit more meat on her bones, ah-hah-hah-ha!"

Aureleth need only pull down her hood and reveal her unnaturally elegant features and leaf-shaped ears to the graf in order to stun him into silence, his reddened cheeks suddenly losing some of their colour.

"Yes, I have a waystalker in my retinue now." Franz bluntly confirmed Todbringer's fears. He took a sip out of the ale, forced himself not to retch, and looked back to the one-eyed count. "Have a care; she does not take well to staring. As for the Norscans and the goat-men filth, did you find them suddenly weakened in the middle of battle?"

"Aye, strange thing, that..." Todbringer's face adopted a contemplative look. "I had just finished running through one of those mutants, and I was about to shield myself from a Norscan raider's blow, when this bright light took my sight away for a while. When the colours returned, the heretics and their despicable mutant pets were as weak as bloody pups, and I killed hundreds of them with my bare hands."

The graf smirked as he pulled up his gauntleted fists. "Maybe thousands, actually. I lost count. Anyway, one Captain Kruber from Gelt's retinue reported how one of the heretics cried about losing his connection to the dark gods somehow, and indeed it seems likely that this supposed severance to Chaos is the cause of the enemy warband's woes. All the better for us, I say."

Should Todbringer be proven right, Franz knew the tremendous advantages the Empire would receive during battles against Chaos. If the dark gods had truly abandoned their faithful, the main sources of Archaon's unholy strength and power would no longer come to his aid, and his invasion would be considered a pathetic joke when faced with a halfway-decent Imperial State force. While the Norscans would soon regain their considerable natural strength after a few days of Chaos leaving them, one should never forget that the raiders lacked discipline, and discipline alone had proven time and time again that a small force of _soldiers_ could hold out, and even triumph against a veritable horde of _warriors._

But Franz also knew that such a thing was very unlikely to truly happen. Nothing was ever easy in this time and age. Doubtless the dark gods had abandoned these Norscans for a specific reason as yet another part of their despicable game, and they would soon return in force, bringing the End Times back into gear.

"I want the men ready to move out again." Franz declared, drawing disappointed moans and looks from the carousing Middenlanders nearby. "We march for Wolfenburg in an hour. We'll draw our next course of action there."

"What about the heretics and barbarians we've taken captive, sire?" Todbringer had asked.

"For all their crimes and heretical acts, by the laws of the Empire, their blood must be spilled," The emperor responded, much to the approval of the men. "But not today. Their condition needs to be examined by the College in Altdorf."

The moans continued. Behind Franz, Aureleth sighed and placed her hood back over her head.

"Emperor Karl Franz! A pleasure to meet the umgi leader at last!"

Franz recognised a dwarf's voice when he heard one. He turned on his side and saw the rangers approaching him. The leader of them, the one wielding a scattergun with two axes behind his back, smiled and stepped forth.

"I've been meaning to find you after the battle was won, but it seems you've gone and disappeared! Some of the younger lads had thought you'd been killed, but no, I didn't think so. You manlings are strong and smart, and I've travelled the Empire well enough to know that you can fight just as well as any of the dawi! When the elector count of Stirland offered coin and drink to any armed group willing to support the emperor as he marches for the north, we took it and here we are now!"

"You've come to aid us, dwarf? Truly?"

The ranger beamed. "Aye, that's right, your imperial majesty! And I've got my Empire citizenship here with me to prove it!" He paused. "Wait. That wasn't what you asked. Yes, we've come here to join you. Now, what do we do next? Fight some more? Set up camp here? Find a place indoors so we could drink to this victory?"

"We're returning to Wolfenburg for now, dwarf." Richter said.

"Drink it is!" The ranger's grin threatened to split his bearded face. "Name's Okri Okrundsson, by the way. Since we're all mates now, you can just call me Cousin Okri!"

* * *

 **End of Chapter I**

* * *

 _Author's notes: Beyond the Wall! And three years before Robert kicks it! Plenty of time to establish prominence in the area, with Hardhome as a base! What could_ possibly _go wrong (wildling raids, slaver raids, iron men raids, eventual invasion of the Others, curious black brothers...)?_

 _When the time comes, Franz will essentially do what Archaon's doing in the Old World!_


	3. The Orchestrator

**KARL FRANZ**

Many hours had passed since the battle-weary Imperial State Army had started to move once more. The sun had already gone lower than the treeline and now threatened to sink into the ground and plunge the world into darkness.

Snow. Wherever he looked, there was always snow. Snow and trees. Emperor Franz soon learned that his maps were no longer accurate. His men had told him his force would soon leave the Forest of Shadows, but they never left the woods, and the uneven, somewhat mountainous terrain did not match those illustrated in the parchment. He had his doubts the first time he saw the carved white trees, but as time passed, Franz was beginning to realise that he and his men were no longer in the Imperial Province of Ostland... or anywhere in the Empire. Even the Norscans "questioned" by von Mannstedt expressed confusion to their frozen environment, indicating they were just as lost as their Imperial captors.

Still, the emperor kept an even face and an upright posture on Deathclaw's saddle for the benefit of the men's morale despite this revelation, and he kept his own spirits up by conversing with those he summoned to march in step with his griffon. Among those he called included Schwarzhelm, Count von Raukov, Graf Todbringer, "Cousin" Okrundsson the dwarf ranger, Fräulein von Mannstedt, Gelt's state trooper captain for an adjutant, Huntsmarshal Wulfhart, and of course, the only wood elf in his retinue, Aureleth the waystalker.

"How many of your comrades fell in battle while I was off trying to find Gelt?" This time, Franz was conversing with one of his few remaining Reiksguards. He had Deathclaw slow down a little so that the knight's barded warhorse could keep up with the griffon's long strides.

"Eight more died, your majesty. Alas, three more were too wounded to ride with us, so I had the crew of the _Feuerlanze_ accomodate them inside their strange machine..." This particular knight, a chestnut-haired woman with an obvious Bretonnian accent named Ysabel de Brie, was a highborn native of the Dukedom of Brionne.

When he first saw Reikmarshal Kurt Helborg in his court with de Brie in Reiksguard livery following him around, Franz had been critical of the reikmarshal's decision to break tradition and let a runaway noblewoman from Brionne with delusions of knighthood enter the ranks of the most elite order of warriors and bodyguards in the Empire, since the old rules dictated that only noblemen of the Empire may join the Reiksguard. In fact, it was rumoured that de Brie — who some of the courtiers in Altdorf had said to greatly resemble an uncorrupted Valkia the Bloody — had seduced Helborg into giving her what she wants. It did not help that Helborg himself was infamous in Reikland for his many scandalous affairs with noblewomen... or women in general.

When de Brie had first accompanied Franz in combat during the Third Battle of Blackfire Pass, however, the emperor quickly learned the true reason why Helborg had disregarded a few important rules to grant de Brie a knighthood and induct her into the Reiksguard. Most unusually, she was incredibly perceptive, and her skill with lances and spears combined with her keen eyes made her a formidable warrior, capable of finding gaps in armour, fortifications and battle lines alike. Indeed, a noblewoman like de Brie would be expected in Bretonnia to pursue more traditionally "womanly" activities such as sewing, accounting, and making poetry... not playing war. Though he never asked her why she escaped her dukedom and severed ties with her noble house, Franz had long assumed de Brie wanted more out of her life than what Bretonnian society dictated she must do for the rest of her existence.

"That leaves you with twenty-eight active knights out of the one hundred I attached to my force." Franz said, mildly dismayed.

"Yes, the Reiksguard is in such a pitiful state," De Brie nodded sullenly as she looked up at the emperor on his griffon. "We must replenish our ranks before we participate in a battle of that scale once more... and with our knight-captain dead, I strongly advise Ludwig Schwarzhelm taking his place for the moment, so we may have someone lead us until a proper replacement can be chosen once we return to Imperial territory."

"Hmm..." Franz thought on it for a moment, but ended up just shaking his head. "...no. No, I think not. In a land as unfamiliar as this, I will have need of Schwarzhelm as my steward and standard carrier... not my lead bodyguard. Until further notice, lady knight, I'm placing _you_ in charge of my Reiksguard. Do not fail me, Knight-Captain de Brie."

"W-what?" Even though she was completely covered in Reiksguard plate and mail armour, de Brie was visibly taken aback. "Your m-majesty, are— are you sure? I... I am but a foreigner living on the Empire's charities... I am n-not worthy of such... such..." Franz looked down from his griffon and stared de Brie down, making her stop stuttering immediately.

"I am not putting you up for reikmarshal, de Brie; you mustn't act so overwhelmed. It is unbecoming of a proper knight of the Empire." Franz said, trying not to sound amused at how flustered de Brie was.

The knight closed her mailed fist over her breastplate and steadied her breathing. "Y-yes. I'm happy to assume command of your Reiksguard, sire... it's just that I've never dreamed of becoming the knight-captain of it one day..."

She placed her hand back to the reins of her mount. "I give my thanks to the Lady each morning after Reikmarshal Helborg granted me my knighthood. I certainly did not expect to rise even further than I already have." Though it was hidden by the plumed greathelm covering her face, Franz could tell she was smiling as she talked. "I suppose I should start thanking Sigmar too, in your honour."

"Thank Sigmar not in honour of me, lady knight; I am but another of His lowly, humble servants. Thank Him because He is a god truly worth giving one's praise to." Franz offered a small, encouraging smile to see the newly-minted knight-captain off before setting his gaze back to the path ahead, his desire to talk sated for now.

"As his imperial majesty desires, it shall be." De Brie crisply saluted her liege and ushered her warhorse back into formation with her fellow Reiksguards, a little too eagerly than usual.

As Deathclaw continued to carry him forth, Emperor Franz contemplated his decision. He knew de Brie was hardly the best choice for his Reiksguard's knight-captain since she sometimes dithered at times of great stress and lacked leadership experience, but he needed someone he knew would stay loyal to him, especially when everyone in his army had just recently learned that they were in foreign, completely unfamiliar territory. The last thing Franz needed was a subordinate who would implore those under his command to desert should matters start to sour even further... or worse, start a mutiny.

"Schwarzhelm!" Franz called out.

"Yes, my lord?" The champion reined in his demigryph from the front of the column and had it lope back to march in step of the emperor's griffon.

"Tell Magister Lord Starke I am in need of his presence. I'll see to this issue with the Winds of Magic now." The emperor said, not once turning to look at his champion.

"At once, your imperial majesty." Schwarzhelm nodded and departed immediately. It took him several minutes to reappear, with the grey wizard trailing behind him on a "steed" made out of purest, magical shadow.

"You summoned me, my emperor?" Starke kept his tone formal, trying to sound not too tired.

Franz examined the shadowmancer for a few seconds before speaking. "You mentioned earlier today, before we started to head out of this blasted forest that the Eight Winds do not blow strongly here, and your powers have weakened slightly as a result. Tell me, grey wizard, should we manage to leave these woods, would the Winds be stronger anywhere else?"

Starke forlornly shook his head. "I have been meditating and testing the proverbial waters along with my fellow wizards as we ride, your majesty... and I'm afraid our efforts eventually brought us dire tidings."

"Out with it, shadowmancer."

Magister Lord Starke let out a breath. "It is as I initially feared: the Winds cannot blow any stronger than everywhere else in our immediate area. If we head east or south, our powers would weaken even further until we can no longer use magic as much as before. While it is fortunate that the enchanted items we carry do not seem to have lost any of their potency, we wizards are not as auspicious."

"What if we head west, or north? What lies there, and how fares the Winds from those directions?"

Starke gave Franz a grim look. It was a while before he spoke again. "To the west, our powers of foresight tell us an empty, uncrossable space that stretches far and wide lies there. Suffice it to say, we will not make any progress should we take this direction. To the north... I cannot say precisely. There are indeed magic forces at work there, but I am certain we will not be made welcome by those that make that area their home. The atmosphere we've felt wafting from that place reminded us much of Sylvania... only much more desolate and cold."

Franz felt desperate for a clear path to take. Not a single soul present in his force knew precisely where in the Old World were they, and which direction should the Imperial State Army take in order to reach friendly lines once more. Before long, Franz decided that he was already much too tired to be making any important decisions.

"Men! We've marched long enough! Set up camp; we'll spend the night here!" He declared, much to the relief of the entire Imperial force.

When the sun finally set and night descended upon the Empire's men, for quite possibly the first time in their lives, they were unnerved to find Morrslieb missing from the night sky.

* * *

 **ELOISE**

"Got any spare candles, Wolfhard? I can't bloody well see." Eloise asked her fellow templar as she methodically reassembled her hidden sleeve pistol. The half-siblings were in the middle of camp, checking their equipment and trying to avoid the attentions of the state troopers and knights carousing nearby, around a large bonfire.

Wolfhard, who was smoking from his tobacco pipe as he scraped his longsword with sandpaper, silently retrieved a couple of thick-bodied wax candles from one of his pouches. He lit them up with his pipe, put some liquid droplets on the brim of his hat, and secured each of the candles there.

"You know I hate it when templars do that," Eloise frowned at the burning candles fixed to the brim of her half-sibling's hat. "So many rookies forget they've got fires burning over their heads while carrying blessed parchments and pouches full of gunpowder. They rarely learn their lesson."

"I'm not a rookie." Wolfhard said, simply. "Nor am I daft enough to accidentally blow myself to pieces. I'm our father's son, after all... and from what little he told me, the woman who birthed me was... uhm, a scholar of sorts."

Eloise perked up a brow. "A "scholar of sorts"? Is that what they call bookish magisters these days?"

Wolfhard adopted a sullen look. "That's not true."

"Whatever helps you sleep better at night, brother." Eloise smirked as she placed her reassembled hidden pistol back in her sleeve. She took out her rapier and started to slowly clean the blade with an old, oil-soaked rag.

Wolfhard was still seated as he took experimental swings with his sword before setting it down the table he shared with his half-sister. "Speaking of magisters, you know how they look into the Winds to find out how an area looks like from afar?" He asked.

"Of course I do." Eloise nodded, speaking disinterestedly. "But it's still taking them so damned long to figure out we aren't in the Old World anymore. Even the dwarfen lunatics can see that." She furrowed her brows and spared a momentary, prejudiced glance at Okrundsson's rangers, who were drinking and talking loudly with the inebriated manlings near the fire.

"Sometimes I think you wouldn't care if every other race except for us humans just suddenly disappeared. Anyway..." The witch hunter pulled out and set down the matching pair of repeater pistols he had "appropriated" from one of the dead outriders he came across while wandering aimlessly in the white forest.

"...you actually think we're not in the Old World?" He asked as he began to inspect the pistols for damages.

"Yes. It's obvious, don't you think? Chaos does not have a strong presence here, making the Norscans weak and clumsy. As a side-effect of the virtually non-existent Chaotic presence, the Winds of Magic do not blow strongly, making our wizards less useful. I'd wager we're somewhere in the Eastern Steppes, or perhaps the Hinterlands of Kuresh in the winter." The witch huntress said in the same, bored tone.

Wolfhard was silent for a while. Thinking about it, what his sister just said made a lot of sense to him. Eloise had a reputation for being astute in the Order, and he wouldn't be overly surprised should her words be proven right. "Did you tell Franz about this?"

At that moment, Eloise momentarily stopped cleaning her blade, having been shaken out of her concentration. "...no, not yet. His imperial majesty looks... troubled. Perhaps he already knows?" Tentatively, she went back to cleaning.

"Bloody hell, Eloise. You sound like a lovestruck maiden." Wolfhard inwardly grinned as Eloise turned to glare at him. "And it looks like you've got competition now. I heard from the Ostlanders that Reiksguard he just promoted to knight-captain is actually a woman. Franz is strong and dark and tall, and this woman will be working with him closely from now on. How long will it take for her to see him as you do right now, dear sister?"

"Wolfhard. Franz. Is. Married." Eloise hissed in the same contralto voice she used to root out lies from heretics. "And you, are being an idiot. I've much better things to do than pursue someone I've lost long ago, and not to mention doing so would get me kicked out of the Order and branded a traitor... or worse, a Slaaneshi temptress masquerading as a bloody templar."

"Heh." Wolfhard huffed a single, laughing breath. "What about... you know, the elf? During my travels around Bretonnia, there'd been stories among the smallfolk about such strange couplings. I wouldn't be surprised if Franz and his waystalker "bodyguard" share a bed every now and—"

"Wolfhard, that's enough!" Eloise all but shouted. "People are beginning to stare! I don't think the emperor would appreciate one of his templars spreading rumours about him, and neither would the two wenches you've just mentioned!"

"Wenches?" Wolfhard's smirk only widened into a full, wolfish grin. "You're slipping, sister. Jealousy does not become you."

Annoyed beyond imagining, Eloise was just about to take her hat, bury her face in it, and scream in frustration. Thankfully, when a familiar sight ambled by, Eloise was quick to call for his attention.

"Sir Todwunsch!" She raised her hand, hoping the raven knight of Morr failed to see how red her face was. "Come, sit with us! I've a proposition for you!"

By the light of the wax candles on the brim of his hat, Wolfhard seemed surprised to find Todwunsch so near. "You're pretty stealthy in those dark plates, aren't you, sir knight?"

The Black Guard did not deign to answer with words, as usual. He merely stepped forth, stood near the siblings' table and looked imploringly at the witch huntress, almost as still as a statue.

"You know, I've been thinking about how you saved me back in the Forest of Shadows earlier today," Eloise began. "And I thought to myself: "wouldn't it be useful if I had someone as strong as that with me at all times?" So, with that said, how would you like to join my new retinue?"

The Morrite shrugged and hefted up his halberd.

"A black knight dedicated to the god of death, standing in service to another, different kind of knight," Wolfhard mused. "A knight of torch and flintlock... I wonder, what part have I to play in this grim and bloody fable?"

"The witless idiot who blunders off in the dark and gets himself killed by a vargheist." Eloise said, remembering the exact same mummer's play Wolfhard was referencing. It was their father's favourite. "Either that, or the flagellant."

* * *

 **KARL FRANZ**

While it was already late, many were still up in the Imperial field camp, still talking or eating their rations by the light of their campfires. Some, like Emperor Franz, knew better than to tire themselves out by staying awake, knowing that the Imperial State Army was due for a long march the following day.

"With Gelt in his current condition, I'm temporarily relieving you of your service to him and putting you in charge of one of my leaderless greatsword regiments," Franz was looking down Gelt's adjutant, who was sharpening his zweihander with a whetstone. "Are you up to the task, captain?"

"Aye, I'll do it, your majesty." Captain Kruber set aside his blade to look up at Franz. He did not sound very enthusiastic about it, however.

"Take heart, soldier. The lives of your men won't be wasted so wantonly as before." Franz said. "Not while I command here. You recall the punishments I've dealt to your old superiors, do you not?"

Kruber sighed. "I know, my emperor. And yes, I remember, though I take no enjoyment out of their disgracement. Nothing can bring my men back from the dead without them trying to claw at my flesh." He took his zweihander and started sharpening it again. "I wish you a good night's rest, emperor."

"Make sure your men are prepared to march on the morrow, captain. Gods watch over you." Franz turned to his side and stalked away from Kruber's fire. Quickly, his Reiksguard escorts also departed after him.

State troops and knights alike hailed and saluted their emperor as he passed by with his Reiksguard, making his way to his own, modestly-sized tent. Above them, Deathclaw glided over the trees to observe the going-ons in the camp, never seeming to tire as he quietly darted around the skies back and forth.

"Aureleth?" As soon as he reached his own lodgings, Emperor Franz was surprised to see the wood elven waystalker quietly sitting on her knees near the entrance to his tent, with her hood over her head, hands on her lap, and with both eyes closed. She looked strangely at peace.

"Have you your own lodgings somewhere?" He asked after bidding his Reiksguard to leave him, half-expecting her not the answer.

"No..." She replied, before the silence got too uncomfortable. "I do not."

Franz was so tired, he decided against pressing the issue. He walked up to and cast aside the flaps to his tent. "I hope Morr guides your warhawk into the afterlife's embrace, daughter of Atylwyth." He said, just before he entered his makeshift home.

"I am not mourning. Just meditating." Franz was somewhat unnerved by how calm and serene the elf sounded. She did not sound patronising, nor sarcastic. "Good night, son of Altdorf."

Thus did Franz started to remove his weapons and armour with a puzzled look on his face. It was as if the waystalker outside his tent was a completely different person altogether. With a shrug, he concluded that meditation does wonders for Aureleth's mood.

After he was done with his gromril plates and runed weaponry, Franz undressed and slipped inside more comfortable clothes and furs. He knew he was ripe with the stench of battle and decaying corpses, but with so little resources at hand and water being a commodity, Franz knew he had to let Nurgle have his little victory for now.

Without further ado, the emperor laid down on his camp bed and made not a sound. He was just beginning to feel drowsy, when he heard the rustling of the leaves in the wind outside, along with nocturnal creatures crying out in unison with one another.

Franz twisted and turned on his bed, desperate for a way to block out the outside world, but none such relief came to him. Whatever sleepiness he might have felt before was completely gone by the time a familiar white light appeared to him through his partially-closed eye-lids.

"Emperor Karl Franz. Are the new surroundings to your liking?"

There was that heavenly voice again. With a mounting sense of dread, Franz already knew as to who he would face once he opened his eyes and sat up on his bed.

" _You..._ " The emperor's voice came out weak and groggily. Inwardly, he was surprised he could even find his voice at the sight of such otherworldly beauty.

"Yes... me." The flawless elven creature nodded and demurely smiled. "Were you expecting someone else, pet?"

Franz grimaced. He felt unspeakably wrong as he did. "Who... who are you? What have... what have you need of me?"

She let out a pleased chuckle. "Hmh-hm, I find myself in need of your... abilities... little human. You play a central role in my little scheme, were you aware?"

The creature sauntered closer to Franz as she spoke. The emperor felt his pulse quicken and a tightness in his chest and crotch made themselves apparent. He was strong-willed enough to realise he was being enthralled through vile witchcraft, but not enough to outright resist the spell the elven temptress had put him under, especially with her standing so close to him.

"But as to who I am..." She leaned in close, _so_ close. "I believe you already know of me."

"...Lileath." His voice was nought but an awed whisper.

"Very impressive, astute pet!" The goddess chuckled again. "You deserve a reward, I think!"

Franz felt a liberating sense of relief when Lileath backed away. He clutched at his chest, gritting his teeth. "Tempt me n-not, witch!" He gasped, his earlier lust soon giving way to anger. "I... want _nothing_ from you!" The emperor stood up, tearing away at the unnatural sadness and regret lingering in his mind.

Soon enough, he had gathered enough of his mental strength to banish the enchantments she placed on him through sheer will. "And you will get NOTHING from me! Begone, vile thing! I will _not_ be toyed with!"

"Tsk, tsk. That's no way to speak to someone about to grant you the most precious commodity of all in this vast and dreary land!" Lileath placed a delicate hand over her breast, pouting with her luscious red lips as if hurt and offended. "I am prepared to give you _knowledge_ , Karl Franz... and if you are willing, my strong-willed pet... so much _more..."_

Emperor Franz steaded himself, panting as if exhausted. "...where in the world have you brought us with your witchcraft, monster?"

"Manners, human. And I'll consider answering your little question." Lileath's voice was as lilting and pleasing to the ears as could be, her tone nothing but friendly and flirtateous.

"Where... where have you brought us, meine Dame?" Franz repeated. He was still fighting Lileath's passive attempts to enchant him again.

" _That's_ more like it." She beamed at him. Her teeth were like gleaming pearls. "You are no longer in the Old World, Karl Franz, or indeed, anywhere in the nameless, war-torn planet you once had the misfortune of inhabiting. I have taken you to another land, in another realm of existence... a virginal new world yet unsullied by the tendrils of strife known as Chaos."

Franz, while happy in the knowledge that Chaos does not have its roots everywhere, was deeply shocked upon learning that he and his men had just been plucked away from the Empire at its time of greatest need. He was at a loss for words; everything he grew to love would be fated to be consumed by Chaos should Lileath keep him and his army stranded in another world entirely.

"Before we go into greater detail of this world, allow me to enlighten you of a few things regarding your youth first, hmm? Consider this as a small part of my gift of knowledge." Lileath, still smiling, said.

Franz sputtered, hesitating to speak. Before he could articulate a proper response, she had already begun talking. "To start of, my little pet, since before you were even born, my followers have already been watching over you, surreptitiously shielding you from harm until you grew strong and capable enough to defend yourself."

Since he was still a prince, Franz was often told of the story of his mother's death. He was nought but a babe then, and he was in a carriage along with his parents and their retainers. Everyone had just gone through a scenic tour of Bretonnian lands, and were on their way back to Reikland. When the carriage passed by the southwestern entrance to Athel Loren, however, the Imperial soldiers tasked with protecting the von Holswig-Schliestens were surprised to find a brayherd of mutants waiting for them down the road.

From what the stories always told, the Imperials were quickly slaughtered despite their numbers. Franz's mother, Empress Kunigunde, died with a dagger in her hand while protecting her only son. Emperor Luitpold suffered injuries that crippled him for the rest of his life when a beastlord's axe cleaved a deep gash through his breastplate and into his chest. All hope seemed lost until a hail of arrows from a detachment of wood elf rangers struck down many of the mutants and sent the rest running to the hills in fear for their lives.

"The most daring of my followers even went under the guises of learned tutors and wisemen from distant and foreign lands, offering their services to your lord father so they may freely impart their centuries of experience and wisdom unto you." Lileath continued as Franz glared at her in abject shock. "They told of how quickly you took to their lessons despite your youth and the inherent slowness of your race. Some were even so bold as to suggest simply taking you to Athel Loren to serve the asrai for eternity as an immortal child-servant!" She giggled at the thought.

Emperor Franz, however, was marginally less amused. He noticed that some of his childhood tutors seemed unnaturally pale and elegant in body, but the sheer value of the veritable ocean of wisdom they offered placated him and quelled his suspicions. He was a boy with an unnatural craving for knowledge, and he was too engrossed in his studies to notice that some of his guardians never ate or socialised with others. Most tellingly, not once did he notice that they never even aged.

Lileath put a hand to her mouth, calming herself. "Hmh-hmm! But alas, I have a lot more uses for a human of your abilities, my exceptional pet. Against all odds, you've managed to surpass each of my expectations and made the best use of all the little gifts I've granted you. Now that the End Times are upon us and all of elvenkind has need of you, don't you think it's time to return the kindness and aid us in our plight?"

"What makes you think I'll agree to do your bidding, witch?" Franz growled, seething with wrath. "For the entirety of my life, you've been shaping me to play my part in your vile scheme," He grit his teeth, his voice dripping with venom. "All I am... all my accomplishments, all the glories I've brought to the Empire... you've orchestrated it all. Everything I am, and it's all a bloody LIE!"

"Oh, please." Lileath rolled her emerald eyes, a mischievous, patronising smile on her lips. "Had I not have the asrai intervene in your upbringing, on the unlikely chance that you _do_ survive to adulthood, doubtless you'd be just another self-obsessed, cowardly oaf in the reins of a troubled nation in the middle of its death-throes, concerned for nothing but his wealth, his power, and his material possessions. Tell me, is it not better this way? Would you not rather be known to be like Magnus the Pious rather than Boris the Incompetent?"

Franz was too furious for words, beyond insulted. He was tempted to take up Ghal Maraz and banish the scheming elven wench with it then and there from this untainted, though barren and half-frozen world.

As if reading his mind, Lileath's smirk subtly grew wider.

"If it would make you feel any better, then by all means: take your precious warhammer and strike me down. However, do know that I am your only chance of ever returning to the Old World. Render unto me this one favour, human, and in exchange, I'll be more than glad to spirit you back in the exact same time and place I took you and yours away, should you desire to. From there, you may return to ruling your little Empire of short-lifers and battling the dark gods' pets and minions in perpetuity."

Once again, Franz had to force himself to calm down. Deeply consumed by fury as he was, he still knew that Lileath was right. She _was_ responsible for bringing him and his men into this accursed, half-frozen land, which meant that she should be capable of bringing everyone back into the Empire's embrace. Ignoring the sour taste in his mouth, the emperor went about speaking his next few words.

"What is it that you want?" He coughed, finally having calmed himself enough to ask. "What could the damned elves possibly stand to gain in this world?"

"All will be revealed in due time, curious pet." Lileath declared with a suggestive wink. "Did you know that this land is not as barren as you think? Should you turn southeast and follow the coast, you will soon find a suitable place to set down your feet and call home. I've already sent another Old Worlder like you in this direction; you should find her there, living by herself and confused as to what her purpose is."

"How does all this relate to the task you are about to set me to?" Resigned, Franz dared to ask.

"It does not." Lileath seemed amused at the look of confusion the emperor had adopted. "Consider this another gift from me. Your true task will be impossible to attempt with starving and battle-weary warriors afflicted with frostbite."

"I suppose you have the right of it." Franz glumly nodded. "Very well, elf. I will take my army southeast on the morrow. Once my forces are replenished and ready for battle, what would you have us do? I'd like to see the end of this as quickly as possible. While I tarry here, my Empire wilts and—"

"Hmh-hm-hmh, not so fast, handsome pet." Chuckling, Lileath reached out and put her finger on Franz's lip. She moved in close again, pushing herself to him in a blatantly sensual manner. Any other man might have melted then and there at the divine feeling of Lileath's ample bosom pressing into his chest, but Franz felt nothing but revulsion and contempt for a manipulative creature who would use him as yet another cog in her nebulous plots. "I will reveal the nature of your quest soon enough, but it won't be this day, or the next. What I _do_ have for you... is this."

Franz watched as Lileath produced a drinking glass in her hand with a quick flash of light. Just like the first time he'd seen it, the glass was filled with a sparkling, crimson liquid. Before he could investigate it further, the elven goddess reached up and gently thrust the glass onto his closed lips.

"Drink, Karl Franz." She implored.

Frowning, the emperor tried to push the glass aside, but Lileath evaded his hand and offered it to him again. "It is unwise to refuse my gift, impertinent pet."

"I have had enough of your misbegotten "gifts", elf."

"Come now, don't be such a fussy child. This is good for you!" The elven goddess playfully laughed as she tried and tried again to make Franz take the strange drink.

"Fine. I will take one more of these gifts of yours, elf, but I will be needing something from you in exchange." The emperor declared after he grew weary of Lileath's game.

"Isn't that unfair? I will be giving you two gifts instead of one!" She exclaimed in mock-indignation.

"Oh, very well. Whatever could you have in mind, Karl Franz? For you, my champion, I can give you... hhm-hmh, _anything._ " Her tone and body language were both suggestive in manner.

Franz was having none of the divine harlot's temptations. "While I'm setting about this task of yours, I will brook no interference coming from you. I am my own man, not some goddess' puppet. You understand, elf?"

"How positively boring." She pouted, looking genuinely displeased. "Fine... you can expect no manipulations from me during your hopefully lengthy stay here."

Franz nodded mechanically. "Good. Now, give me that Grail. Sigmar will reject my soul for this, but I'll accept being doomed to oblivion for even the slightest chance to save His Empire from Chaos."

"Grail?" Lileath perked up a brow. For the first time, she seemed genuinely surprised at Franz. "Whoever told you to use that word? 'Tis only a glass of wine."

Emperor Franz narrowed his eyes in renewed anger. "Do not take me for a "chivalrous" fool, _Lady._ You have chosen me as your accursed champion, have you not? I know that glass in your hand is not the Grail, but I am not oblivious to the true nature of what it contains and what it will do to me once I partake in it."

Lileath's ever-present smile was gone from her face, but only for a short moment. "However did you find out my oh-so closely-guarded secret? Tell me all about it, Karl Franz."

"The same "tutors" you've sent me were more than glad to let me study the Lady of the Lake. They also told me many things about you, the elven goddess of dreams and mercy." Franz hissed, staring daggers into Lileath. "They taught me enough that I only needed to connect the dots, and your denial of the Grail confirmed my suspicions. You are not as in control as you think you are, witch."

The goddess seemed extremely pleased, grinning jubilantly. "It seems you find new ways to exceed my expectations of you! Well done, my clever and erudite little pet!" She extended her hand, offering him her glass. "I am truly saddened you are not born to elvenkind; your brilliance is wasted on that spoilsport, Sigmar. Oh, just think of the many ways we can spend time together!"

Franz did not even deign the insult to his god with a response. He snatched the glass from Lileath's hand and stared at the sparkling red fluid stirring inside its transparent form. Not a moment too soon, Franz put the rim of the glass to his lips and drank all of its mystical contents down. The liquid was tasteless despite looking a lot like wine; it slithered down the emperor's throat and settled in his belly.

Within moments, an unbearable pain descended upon him, threatening to overcome his senses and rob him of consciousness. Franz had never been poisoned, but he figured this must be how it felt like. For several moments, all he felt was pure agony — mindless, unrelenting pain. But despite the ever-increasing urge to pass out and escape the pain tearing at him and threatening to drive him insane, Franz remained resolute and awake. Unfortunately, this proved to be a mistake.

A new pain made itself apparent on Franz's chest. He felt like he was just run through with a sword still fresh from the fires of a blacksmith's forge. The now-empty drinking glass in his hand slipped from his fingers, and it soundlessly shattered to pieces on the ground. Franz felt his legs grow weak, and he was forced down on his knees. Before long, martial-sounding voices speaking in Bretonnian accents began to whisper directly into his mind, getting louder and more clearer as the emperor stubbornly endured his punishment.

 _That which is sacrosanct, I will preserve! That which is sublime, I shall protect!_

"That... which is... sacrosanct..." Without knowing it, Franz's lips started moving on their own and his voice escaped from his mouth as he unwillingly repeated the words echoing in his head. "I... will... urrgh, I... will... no... NO!"

 _That which threatens, I will destroy! For my holy wrath will know no bounds!_

"T-that which... which threatens... I will d-destroy... for my h-holy wrath... no... argghh, no!" He tried to fight it. He trashed and turned, trying to force the voices to stop. "NO! I... agh, I... will... NOT!"

"My, my! Truly, this is an exceptional sight!" He could barely hear Lileath crooning over his kneeling form. "No one has ever struggled with such ferocity to a knighting before, my stalwart pet! Even I had thought the pain would be too much to bear for mere humans!"

Franz summoned all his remaining strength to put up his head and look Lileath straight in the eyes.

"I... will never be... your slave!" He mouthed out, trembling in agony as he did so.

Lileath shook her head and sighed. She lowered herself so she could level with Franz. The emperor could do no more than stay still and writhe in his misery as the goddess of dreams leaned in and whispered into his ear.

"You play a much more important role than a mere pawn, Karl Franz von Holswig-Schliesten. You will be my chief instrument of war in this dark and troubled world... in service to a cause _all_ crusaders of order and righteousness would be more than happy to join... and if needed—"

Lileath chuckled. "...give up their lives for."

With that said, the elven goddess snapped her fingers together. Her warmth and light disappeared, and Franz was left in the darkness. He felt himself overtaken by sleep again, but the pain and the voices would not plaguing him throughout the night, imploring him to take up his arms and ride out into the darkness, all in the name of championing his lady goddess' just and chivalrous cause.

 _I relinquish all, and take up the tools of my quest..._

 _When the clarion call is sounded, I will ride out, and fight in the name of liege and Lady... honour is all... chivalry is all..._

 _No obstacle shall stand in my path... NO PLEA FOR HELP SHALL FIND ME WANTING!_

 _THAT WHICH IS SACROSANCT, I WILL PRESERVE! THAT WHICH IS SUBLIME, I WILL PROTECT! HONOUR IS ALL! CHIVALRY IS ALL! CE QUI EST IMPUR JE LE DÉTRUIRAI CAR MON SAINT CORROUX EST SANS LIMITES !_

 _LA LUNE NE ME SURPRENDRA JAMAIS DEUX FOIS EN UN MÊME LIEU !_

 _POUR L'HONNEUR ET LA CHEVALERIE ! **POUR L'HONNEUR ET LA CHEVALERIE !**_

Franz awoke in the early morning hours, feeling sore all over and sweating profusely despite the cold. His head threatened to cave in on itself, and his mind is groggy with the events that transpired the previous night.

He looked around his tent and found that everything was as they were. His weapons and armour were in their racks, his luggage did not appear to be disturbed, and he was lying on his back on his camp bed, not appearing to have left it since he took to sleep for the night. He remembered how Lileath's drinking glass had shattered on the ground after he let it slip from his grasp, but most unusually, there were no evidence of any shards left in his tent. It was as if Lileath's visit was nought but a strange nightmare.

Sighing, Emperor Franz stood up from his bed and started to take up his weapons and armour once more. He was so engrossed in trying to silence the voices still echoing in his mind, that he failed to notice his black gromril plate reflecting an eerie white light emanating from his own body.

* * *

 **AURELETH**

The waystalker's eyes snapped open. Taking in a deep breath of the cold morning air, Aureleth moved and snapped a few of her joints as she stood up to face the day.

To the distance in front of her, a sight she could not help but frown at behind her veil had laid: a Norscan's mangled, half-eaten corpse was on the ground, with flies buzzing all around it. This one most likely tried to escape his Imperial captors late in the night and was halfway through the sleeping camp when he suddenly met his grisly and painful end via an angry griffon.

Aureleth could not help but feel unnerved as a mustachioed pair of state troopers arrived and hauled the festering body away from the middle of the path, and into a conveniently-placed gouge in the earth nearby. One of them doused the area with oil while the other struck a match, using it to light up his smoking pipe first. The two of them exchanged some words and one of them laughed at the other's joke, his breaths steaming in the cold air. The state trooper with the pipe in his mouth then nonchalantly tossed his still-burning match into the dead Norscan's resting place, setting it ablaze.

"You're still here, Aureleth?" The waystalker heard Karl Franz's distinctive baritone from behind her. She was so busy observing the scene in front of her, she scarcely heard the short-lifer emperor vacating his tent. "Were you outside my tent the entire night?"

"I told you, Karl Franz," The asrai began to speak as she slowly turned around to face her charge. "I have no other place to—"

Aureleth couldn't find it in herself to finish the rest of her sentence as she took in the sight of Franz, whom had looked almost completely different compared to the emperor she had grown somewhat accustomed to.

Franz's weather-beaten and rugged face, while still sporting the same scars in the right places, now looked much more youthful, making him look as if an entire decade had been lifted from his burdens. Also, while Aureleth never did reach up to Franz's unusual height before, she did not feel too dwarfed by the stocky, broad-shouldered emperor, since most asrai had a tendency to be taller than most Old Worlders. Now, however, the waystalker had to incline her head slightly higher than before just so she could look Franz in the eyes.

"Is something the matter, waystalker?" Franz tilted his helmed head to the side a bit. What caught Aureleth's attention the most was how the emperor seemed to emit a strange, subtle light from his own body, making him a weak source of illumination.

"Karl Franz..." Aureleth finally found her voice again. "What in Lileath's name happened to you?"

He flinched at the mention of her patron goddess' name, Aureleth noticed. "I was visited in a vision the previous night, waystalker... by what could only be described as a goddess." He said, his voice growing low and grave. "Walk with me."

Aureleth wasted no time following after the emperor while he traversed the Empire field camp. As they marched, the waystalker noticed how most of the soldiers and knights they came across stopped what they were previously doing in order to gawk at Franz, with some even performing holy signs to their gods as the emperor passed by them, resolutely ignoring their stares.

"Your imperial majesty!" Both of them heard a woman's voice calling after Franz. Aureleth was the first to look, coming upon the sight of the two Sigmarite templars from the previous day running ahead, trying to catch the emperor's attention. Notably, the younger of the two — the bored-looking, brown-haired man — could be seen dragging a ragged, blue-clad state trooper who sported several bruises and scrapes on his face.

"Your imperial majesty! I apologise for interrupting your walk, but I must inform you that one of our captives had slipped away during the night as a result of this man's failure to stay awake while on duty!" The older witch hunter — the authoritative, raven-haired woman — had said while angrily pointing to the soldier her colleague was manhandling.

Aureleth rolled her eyes and pulled up her hood just as Franz stopped to deal with the issue. Meanwhile, the woman kept ranting, "Discipline must be instilled! This man has proven himself incapable of performing a simple task, and must be adequately... adequately punished for his... his..."

"Von Mannstedt," Franz spoke as he faced the templar. "I ask that you direct this matter to this soldier's elector count later today; I'm afraid I am much too busy to decide this man's fate for now. As you can see, I have an army to direct."

With that said, Franz turned on his heel and started walking again. Von Mannstedt just stood there in the middle of the path, looking utterly astounded. Aureleth shared a look with the woman's bewildered colleague before she went off to keep near her charge.

The emperor and his waystalker protector navigated the camp in silence for some time. It was a while before Aureleth mustered the courage to speak her mind to Franz.

"Are you dedicated to the Lady of the Lake's cause now, human?" She asked, hopeful for a positive answer. "You have been granted the contents of the Lady's Grail, have you not? I recognise a Knight of the Grail when I see one, especially ones that still glow in Fay light.

Franz, unexpectedly, scowled in anger. It was another while before he answered, "You need not call her that, elf. I know the Lady is Lileath in truth."

While Aureleth stared at him in shock, the emperor continued to talk.

"I have been granted the _contents_ of the Grail, but evidently not while in the Grail itself, judging from how the cheap glass the witch offered me had shattered to pieces when I let it fall to earth." He hissed, visibly seething with cold fury. "Perhaps this is why I have not been subverted into her sniveling, fawning lackey... just like Royarch Leoncouer and his knightly ilk."

He looked down to her, peering into her soul with those glowing blue orbs of his. For the first time since she was tasked with protecting Franz, she felt intimidated by her newly-empowered charge.

"To answer your first question, Aureleth, I serve Sigmar's cause first and foremost, the Empire second, and the whims of your manipulative witch for a goddess third. Remember this."

Aureleth blinked. She knew that a man either died in pain after being offered the Grail's contents, or he lives long enough to be reborn into an ever-loyal champion fighting in service to the Lady of the Lake, while still staying oblivious to his patron goddess' true identity as Lileath. How was Emperor Franz able to find out the secret the goddess of dreams had been keeping from the Bretonnians for thousands of years? And why was the emperor disrespecting his new lady goddess with every breath when doing so would have been unthinkable for him: a newly-made Grail Knight?

The waystalker shook her head and cleared her thoughts. It was not her place to question Lileath's will. "I suppose I shan't call you by "short-lifer" any longer, Karl Franz, because that would be wrong... and I don't like being wrong."

The emperor cracked a small, sardonic smile at that. "Come on, waystalker. The men need to be informed where to go."

* * *

 **End of Chapter II**

* * *

 _Author's notes: Nothing really on my mind right now, besides highlighting what's next. Basically, the next chapter should deal with Hardhome, a vampire, an ice wizard, and the first Imperial contact with wildlings. After that, there'll be a chapter about an Imperial settlement rising from the ruins of a free folk town. Oh, and the Night's Watch should make an appearance then._

 _ASoIaF is the property of GRRM, and Warhammer Fantasy Battles (if it even exists still) is the property of Games Workshop._


	4. Resettlement

_Please read the notes at the end of every chapter. Useful things down there. :)_

* * *

 **WOLFHARD**

The Imperial State Army mobilised swiftly, but before that, Emperor Franz had called for several key persons in his army to assemble in one of the larger tents so he may announce matters of import to his summoned audience. Among those called besides his personal retinue of Ludwig Schwarzhelm and the elven waystalker, were Elector Counts von Raukov and Todbringer, Magister Lord Starke, Huntsmarshal Wulfhart, Okri Okrundsson, the entire Reiksguard, warrior priests of Sigmar and Ulric both, some of the few surviving magisters, several high-ranking Imperial State Army officers, a few noted knights, and the only two witch hunters attached to the emperor's force: Wolfhard and his half-sister, Eloise.

Graf Todbringer, whom had surprisingly abstained from drink the previous night and was sober that day, cracked a joke at the emperor's unusual increase in height, inexplicably youthful looks, and the subtle light emanating from him. Wolfhard had laughed just like everyone else, but his mind was already working overtime to figure out exactly what happened to Emperor Franz. After a while, he concluded that either strange magics of the land were at work, or Sigmar Himself had granted Franz His blessing... which was usually a good thing, but also often meant that a time of conflict and strife would soon come to pass.

Eventually, after Franz had informed those he summoned of a few minor things relating to logistics, morale, and weather, he cleared his throat and let silence reign for a while, as though he was deliberating on something in his mind. Just when Wolfhard thought he was done for the day, the emperor opened his mouth and said several important things that shocked and disturbed his entire audience.

Apparently, while everyone else was asleep, Franz had been kept awake, pushed to the limits of his will as he tried to resist the charms of none other than Lileath herself, the elven goddess of dreams, mercy, forgiveness and other, seemingly benign concepts. He spoke of how she plucked each and every one in his force from Ostland the moment he personally struck down Arnolf Asvaldsson, spiriting them away into this new world supposedly free of Chaos as part of her mysterious plans on behalf of elvenkind. While he hissed Lileath's name with disgust every single time, Franz did half-heartedly praise her for waiting until _after_ the sorcerer lord of Tzeentch was killed before using her witchcraft to displace the Imperial State Army into another realm of existence.

Eloise, whom had spent most of the time in the tent blankly staring at Franz, was shaken from her stupor after it was revealed the entire Imperial State force had been taken to another world entirely, and with very little chance of ever returning. Wolfhard could see tears welling in her eyes — tears for her family and for her troubled homeland. While the witch hunter never had a strong bond with House von Mannstedt due to being born out of wedlock to his widowed father's paramour, he felt saddened nonetheless. He shifted on his seat and sat closer to his half-sister. He offered her his shoulder and held her hand as he comforted her.

Eventually, after gesturing for the frantic whispering and shocked murmuring to stop, Franz did mention the only way he knew how to return to the Old World, and unsurprisingly, it involved playing a part in Lileath's plan for this half-frozen, godsforsaken world — a plan she certainly did not feel too inclined to reveal to the emperor that night. Everyone listened intently as his imperial majesty then told of a supposedly ideal location to settle the army down, as revealed by Lileath. After a certain amount of time had passed, Franz said that Lileath would soon give him instructions on what to do, and setting up shop to the southeast seemed to be the best way to pass the time.

Thus, after ordering those present to hear him speak spread the news to the lower ranks, Franz bade everyone to move out and mobilise the entire Imperial State Army to set out east, in order to find a coast to then follow south. His imperial majesty then inquired those he summoned if they had any questions for him, and predictably, many raised their hands. Wolfhard could feel the emperor's irritance as he slowly tried to explain to several people why he was glowing and looked different, citing being blessed by Lileath as the cause but refusing to give any more details about the subject.

Four whole days had passed since the men of the Empire had started moving; the coast had been spotted a day before, and his imperial majesty's main force had been following it south for some time now. As for Wolfhard, Eloise and Sir Todwunsch, the three of them were sitting around a giant tree stump in the frozen wilderness as part of a small advance force consisting of Huntsmarshal Wulfhart and some of his seasoned monster hunters, as well as Cousin Okri's dawi rangers. It was early in the morning, and the snow-covered trees had just started to weep thanks to the heat. To pass the time while waiting for a squad of Emperor Franz's outriders to deliver them new orders, the group had been playing card games and sipping Wulfhart's Tilean wine reserve.

"Gods-dammit!" The huntsmarshal slammed his cards down the tree stump's semi-frozen surface. Behind him, his men that were watching the game seemed to share his annoyance. "I know you cheat, dwarf! I didn't see you, but I bloody well know you do!"

Cousin Okri laughed as he took away his meagre winnings from the huntsmarshal beside him. "Hah! I've been playing games like these since before some of your ancestors were even born, umgi. Heh-heh, once you get the hang of this and beat me, _maybe_ then you're halfway as good as my cousin, Bardin!" His dwarfen rangers laughed with him, pleased to put the manlings in their place.

Beside Wolfhard, Eloise seemed to be formulating a plan to take all of Okri's winnings in one fell swoop after the huntsmarshal was eliminated, judging from how she furiously jutted down notes inside her field notebook. Wolfhard himself was hardly involved with the game, being in it mostly so he could have an excuse to drink the huntsmarshal's excellent-quality wine reserve while everyone else tried and failed to take the cocky dwarf ranger down a peg.

"Alright, Fräulein, show me what ye've got there!" Okri smirked behind his beard, practically radiating confidence in his eventual victory.

Eloise let out a breath, stashed away her notebook, and brought out her cards for the dwarf to see. Wolfhard was surprised at how strong her hand was; his half-sister might just beat Okri once and for all, earning herself enough gold crowns to cover the cost of a week-long stay in a nice Altdorf tavern bedroom, complete with ale and venison for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

"Hah! Colour me impressed, templar!" Okri chuckled, then brought out his own cards. Eloise's jaw promptly dropped. "You're better than the huntsmarshal, but certainly not enough to defeat Cousin Okri! Your gold is mine!"

The witch huntress sighed, pushing the small amount of coins she wagered to Okri's piece of the stump. "Whatever. Crowns have no value in this Sigmar-forsaken world as far as everyone knows. Gold just makes your pack heavier and noisier, dwarf."

"Aye, but I could still use the gold for plenty of other, more practical-like things, ya know... like removing mercury from skin, or as a conductor!" The ranger did not seem too saddened by being cut off from the Karaz Ankor indefinitely, as Wolfhard noticed. "Failing that, I could just melt the bloody crowns, remove the impurities, and sell the gold!"

He paused to think. "Well... if we could find a forge around these woods, that is."

"And someone to sell the gold to." Huntsmarshal Wulfhart added. "Honestly, I don't see how anyone would want to live here. Maybe there's civilisation down south, but we don't know for sure. Also, there's the possibility that gold might not even be valued by the people living here in this wilderness, where survival should be anyone's first priority."

Cousin Okri waved a dismissive hand. "Eh, don't be such a spoilsport, umgi. I'm sure we can find _someone_ around these parts who just so happens to like shiny things more than his own survival. Just like Cousin Bardin, for instance! Good head on his shoulders, that one."

He then turned to Sir Todwunsch, whom had been quietly sitting on his corner of the tree stump, still hiding his cards from view. "What about you, knight of Morr? You seem to have wagered quite a bit of dosh there! Go on, show us ya hand so I can pile more crowns for me towerin' mound of gold!"

Todwunsch, silently as ever, promptly took out his cards.

"Well, fuck me." Stupefied, Wolfhard wiped his nose as everyone gaped at the completely unexpected turn of events. As the witch hunter dubiously stared at his mug of Tilean wine, a loud cheer erupted from the humans watching the game, accentuated by the disbelieving groans coming from the dwarfs.

"Ha-hah! The Black Guard beat you, ranger! Ranald favours him!" Wulfhart pumped a fist, grinning ear-to-ear behind his black beard and goatee.

Eloise seemed impressed at her follower. "Good show, sir knight! I certainly did not expect you of all people would be the one to take the mad dwarf down!"

Cousin Okri blubbered inelegantly for a while, shocked at his defeat. "Gah! How did this happen? I thought I had everything under me thumb!" He downed his own mug of wine before pushing his stack of crowns over to the victorious Sir Todwunsch. "I suppose I should congratulate you, Todwunsch. I don't think I've been beaten in manling card games in a long bloody time."

The raven knight shrugged his armoured shoulders and pushed his winnings over to Eloise. The witch huntress seemed surprised at first, but then she remembered Todwunsch had agreed to be a part of her new retinue, and as a rule, he must share his gold with her for the benefit of them both.

Wolfhard smiled at the sight of Eloise slowly shovelling all the gold into a small bag she brought. He was about to continue with his drink, when he heard something whiz past his head and hit someone behind him, eliciting a shrill cry of pain. He whipped around and saw one of Wulfhart's huntsmen clutching at the shaft of the arrow sticking out of his leather chestpiece.

"ACHTUNG! Enemy archers, TAKE COVER!" He heard one of the men shout, moments before a hail of arrows from all directions came raining down on the small Imperial camp.

Wolfhard tossed his half-empty mug away and dived down on the ground. He hit the dirt with a muffled thump, losing some of the wind from his lungs in the process. _Gods-damn it. Why can't I just sit down and drink some wine these days without being attacked?_

"Hah-ha-hah! Shields up, ya lazy wazzocks! WE'VE GOT COMPANY!"

The witch hunter looked up and saw the dwarfs put up their shields before bunching up close together, forming a near-impenetrable phalanx of steel, iron, and leather. Turning his head to the side, he came upon the sight of Sir Todwunsch dragging an injured huntsman to cover, all while he was being pelted with dozens of strangely ineffectual arrows from almost every conceivable angle.

When one of the projectiles bounced off the raven knight's shoulderplate and landed right next to Wolfhard, he snatched it from the ground and examined it by the light of the early morning sun. He discovered that the arrowhead was made out of crudely-sharpened stone, which explained the unusual noise the arrows made whenever they struck and failed to penetrate Todwunsch's padded obsidian plate.

 _Who the bloody hell uses stone arrows?_ Wolfhard asked himself, incredulous. _Only pathetic savages and down-on-their-luck vagabonds use these kinds of weapons! Except for the tribal variants, even greenskins refuse to wield stone weapons as a last resort!_

The witch hunter's battlefield musings were interrupted by Eloise when she dived down and hit the dirt next to him, nursing a bleeding shoulder. "Can you see them, Wolfhard?" Her voice was low, and eerily calm.

"What? You're wounded!" He dragged himself closer to her to inspect her wound, but she kept him at bay with an outstretched, open palm.

"Just a damned scratch — a stray arrow nicked me." She explained. "I've got my spyglass here. Can you use your gun? I can spot targets for you."

Wolfhard grit his teeth as he retrieved his repeater handgun by its strap, unslinging it from around his neck. "I haven't had too much to drink, yes. I'm ready when you are."

Eloise breathed in and out before taking out her spyglass and hazarding a look ahead from the relative safety of her prone position. It was another moment before she found something of note. "There, by that crooked tree. Wedged between two trunks, wielding a bow and clad in furs."

"A Norscan?" The witch hunter mouthed out before peering down his sights in search of the foe. "Did the divine elven wench lie to Franz about Chaos not being here?"

The witch huntress shook her head. "Norscans do not usually wield bows to battle, and this one's too scrawny; too little in the way of musculature and bulk typical to northmen, with no visible mutations as far as I can see." She scoffed. "Probably just a savage or a bandit in over his head."

"Well, he'll lose it in a moment." Wolfhard said as he drew a bead on the target, his voice nought but a whisper. Just as the blurry profile appeared to notch another arrow, Wolfhard pulled the trigger and struck his mark by the jaw, making the archer's lifeless body recoil before dropping down from his perch.

Following the loud blast generated by Wolfhard's shot, the enemy bowmen seemed to stop, as if surprised by the harsh, sudden noise. Eloise utilized the quiet to spot another target and make his position known to Wolfhard, who took aim and eliminated his second mark in short order. The arrows then continued flying, but not in the same intensity as before.

"Over there." Eloise, still looking through her spyglass, tapped her brother's shoulder with her free hand and pointed over to the distance. "See him? He looks like he wants to reposition, get a better angle on us."

"He won't get far." Wolfhard sighted down the new target. Just when he was about to pull the trigger and end the bowman as he threw all caution to the wind and rushed out into the open, a bodkin arrow flew across the air and impaled the running man's forehead, near-instantly killing him.

"Defend yourselves, huntsmen!" The witch hunter heard Huntsmarshal Wulfhart's ragged shout. "Fight! Drive them back, sons of Sigmar! We'll hold this camp or DIE TRYING!"

Wulfhart's Hunters soon emerged from hiding and started to contribute precise bow and crossbow attacks to Wolfhard's sporadic handgun fire. Okrundsson's rangers, feeling they've waited under a hail of arrows long enough, quickly put aside their feathered shields and brought their thunderers, crossbows and grudge-rakers to bear. As one, the entrenched circle of dwarfs wasted no time taking aim and emptying volley after volley into the woods around them, felling scores of enemy archers whenever they were sighted.

Within a few moments, the hostile bowmen, dying in droves and clearly outmatched by their Empire foes' technological might and sheer skill at arms, were quickly forced to duck down under cover, no longer daring to expose themselves in order to use their bows.

"They're PULLING APART!" The huntsmarshal continued to shout as he loosed arrow after arrow on the enemy ranks, killing one enemy after another. "Break their backs! KILL THEM ALL!"

For a while, Wolfhard thought the as-of-yet unidentified foes had retreated when no more dared to reveal themselves. He and Eloise stood up to their knees and he was just about to put away his handgun, when he heard the distinctive sound of a warhorn blowing. Moments later, a horde of ragtag, disorganised savages clad in ratty furs and wielding axes, clubs, and spears with stone edges appeared from deeper into the white forest, banging their wooden shields with their weapons and screaming battle-cries in an unknown, barbaric tongue as they recklessly charged the hunkered down Imperials and their dwarf allies.

"These aren't just bloody vagabonds!" Eloise exclaimed as she stood up and drew her rapier and off-hand pistol in preparation for battle. "Criminal scum don't usually congregate and fight at these numbers!"

"Plenty of time to study them later, when they're all dead on the ground!" Still on his knee, Wolfhard steadily reloaded his handgun, though he had a feeling he'd soon have to use his longsword.

Sir Todwunsch appeared, feathered with arrows, but seemingly unaffected. He casually snapped one shaft sticking out of a gap in his plates and hefted his halberd, his breath steaming from out the slits and holes in his red-plumed, black greathelm.

"Our foes march on us!" Eloise twirled her rapier in her hand, a tic of hers just before a battle. "Steel yourselves! Judgement is coming!"

Huntsmarshal Wulfhart notched an arrow, taking aim with it. "Let loose when in range, hunstmen! Feather them before letting them close!"

Cousin Okri just laughed as he finished loading new shot and powder into his scattergun. "Here they come, lads! Time to show Franz we can fight as well as any manling, if not better! If only Cousin Bardin could see us now!"

The savages advanced closer and closer until they were within effective handgun range, and in response, as one, the Imperials and Cousin Okri's rangers unleashed a combined fusillade of projectile fire on the chaotic enemy line. The barrage of shots, arrows and quarrels riddled the barbarians bloody, killing or maiming scores of them before they could get too close for comfort.

"NOW!" Huntsmarshal Wulfhart, clearly realising that notching another arrow or reloading a handgun would take too much precious time, simply put his longbow away and drew his sabre from its sheath. "FOR EMPEROR FRANZ!"

"SIGMAR!" Both Wolfhard and Eloise shouted, charging after Wulfhart and his men.

"KHAZUKAN KAZAKIT-HA!" After drawing their shields and axes, Okri's rangers were all too eager to follow after the long-legged manlings.

The battle lines clashed together, and the screams of the men dying from their injuries filled the air. Wolfhard fired on a savage at point-blank range with his repeater handgun, and his shot effortlessly penetrated the man's wooden shield and continued on to blow a new hole in his throat. Another of his foes skirted around him and tried to bury her spear into his side, but she made her intentions too obvious for someone as perceptive as Wolfhard. Timing his body to move as she lunged, the witch hunter sidestepped the savage's thrust, advanced forth, and lashed out with his handgun's wooden stock, bloodily knocking a few of his opponent's teeth from her mouth and making her hobble back, desperate to regain her balance. With enough room between him and his foe, Wolfhard simply took aim with his Nuln repeater, spun the barrels with his free hand, and held down the trigger. He took morbid satisfaction in how the savage performed a little dance to his shots before his last bullet blew out her eye and killed her for good.

The witch hunter was just about to put his depleted handgun away, when he heard a bellowing voice scream from behind him. He slung his repeater over his shoulder and pivoted around just in time to get knocked off his feet and bodily tackled to the snow by a broad-shouldered, poleaxe-wielding savage. Wolfhard tried to struggle against the foul-smelling barbarian pinning him down, but the foe reared back a fist and struck Wolfhard with it in response, dazing him.

"Hah-ha-har!" The man laughed as he stood up and stomped on Wolfhard's chest, knocking all the wind from his lungs. Wolfhard wheezed and coughed as the savage hoisted his poleaxe to put an end to the witch hunter, but was stopped dead when a long piece of thin, masterfully-tempered steel burst from his chest, spattering the barbarian's blood all over his would-be victim. The savage gasped as his weapon fell from his grasp; he tried to touch the strange, needle-like thing poking out of his body, but it suddenly slid back from whence it came and quickly re-entered his body — through his head this time.

Eloise retracted her rapier from the savage's head and shoved his falling corpse aside. "That was close!" The witch huntress reached out and helped Wolfhard up to his feet. "Are you injured?"

"Just need to catch my breath." Wolfhard gasped out. Slowly, he pulled out his twin repeater pistols and looked ahead, back into the battle going on. "Urgh, come on, Eloise. We should—"

"HAAARGGH!" Yet another of the savages yelled out as he charged at the two witch hunters, stone club and wooden shield in hand. He was halfway through to the half-siblings, when a mass of silver and dark obsidian plate smashed into him, knocking the barbarian flat on the ground. Sir Todwunsch then reared his halberd back and swiftly speared his downed foe's gut with it, eliciting a panicked scream of pain from his victim. The Black Guard of Morr was not done yet, however. He tightened his grip on the haft of his weapon and used his prodigious strength to push up and lift the unfortunate man into the air, impaling him further and further.

Eloise grimaced at the sight. "Yes, yes, come on. We still have a fight to win, and captives to interrogate after this."

"You're looking forward to your "interrogations" the most, aren't you?" Wolfhard put up a sly grin despite his difficulty breathing. To the distance, Sir Todwunsch tossed his vanquished foe's corpse over his shoulder.

"Part of my job, as you well know." Eloise nonchalantly responded, tilting her head for a second before tilting it back.

Without further ado, the two templars once more entered the fray, guns blazing and swords thirsting for blood. Wolfhard took down several of the barbarians in the span of a few seconds with precise snap-shots from his twin repeater pistols, often killing them with a single shot to the neck or head. Eloise watched her brother's back as she contributed her pistols to his fire, and when one of the savages advanced too close, she was quick to disarm, disable and finally kill them with a series of lightning-fast thrusts, slashes and counter-attacks. Even Wolfhard had a difficult time trying to see where Eloise had moved to; she often disappeared in a blur before reappearing somewhere else, after having already killed her previous opponent.

"These idiots just keep coming and throwing themselves at us!" Wolfhard griped, panting in exertion.

The witch hunter stashed his dry repeater pistols away and drew his longsword. He ducked and evaded an overhead swing from a hand-axe wielding savage before thrusting the length of his sword into his opponent's gut. The savage yelped in pain, only to be silenced when Wolfhard grabbed hold of his face, pulled him close, and buried his castle-forged blade deep into the unfortunate man's head from under his jaw.

"They can't keep dying all morning! Just keep killing!" Eloise shouted back. While Wolfhard seemed content to fight defensively, Eloise had always preferred to keep her opponents on their toes. She parried an incoming blow from a savage wielding a club before twisting to the side and thrusting with her rapier, impaling her opponent's thick neck. Two other barbarians approached the witch huntress with vile intent, but she did not stand to hold her ground. Eloise jumped as she advanced on the first of her opponents, lunging with her blade at the very last second. The savage she struck reeled away as he clutched at the new wound on his chest, leaving the witch huntress free to deal with her second opponent with a series of rapid attacks to find and exploit a gap in her defences.

"FIGHT BACK, you craven slut!" Eloise snarled, looking angry and vicious enough to take on a coven of heretics by herself. "Come on! Make this easier on yourself and FIGHT! BACK!"

When the savage kept herself guarded by clutching at her shield and refusing to attack, Eloise feinted to make her commit to a fatal defensive move — a ploy that worked as the savage frantically moved her shield to defend herself from a blow that never came. The witch huntress then twisted to the side to reposition once again before proceeding to deliver a pair of vicious thrusts to the savage's chest, then through her mouth as she reflexively opened it to cry out in pain. As the savage slowly choked on her own blood, her partner had recovered enough from his blade wound to fight again. Bellowing out a war-cry, the man advanced on Eloise. The witch huntress scowled, reached up with her arm, took aim, and swiftly put an anti-climatic end to her foe mid-charge by blowing a hole through his forehead with her concealed sleeve pistol.

For several minutes, the pair of templars held their position, even as more and more of the barbarians kept coming at them. Wolfhard felt himself pushed to his breaking point despite never having been hit once, but fortunately, Eloise was always there to pick up his slack. She fearlessly took the fight to several of the savages at once, and at one point, Wolfhard saw his sister holding her ground against four opponents at the same time, dispatching them one by one. Just when the witch hunter began to think the influx of foes would never end, blessed relief came in the form of six outriders wielding Nuln repeaters each.

"OPEN FIRE!" The lead outrider screamed, and his comrades were all too eager to obey. The savages had just enough time to turn and look at the new, horse-riding arrivals before they were blasted to bits by a stream of handgun shots, tearing the majority of them apart outright and sending the rest scurrying back into the woods in fear.

Eloise, high on the rush of battle, stomped on a dying, one-armed savage's head to silence his pitiful screaming. Wolfhard grit his teeth in disgust, but he was much too tired to voice his emotions.

"Alright, just what in Sigmar's name happened out here?" The leader of the outriders asked out loud as he and his men trotted up on their warhorses. His voice was aristocratic in tone, with an upper-crust Altdorfer accent. "Who the bloody hell are these... ruffians in furs?" He sniffed in contempt. "And are those things in their hands stone weapons? Pah, nothing but peasants, these people! Being killed brought them relief, no doubt!"

"We have no idea who these folks are. Probably mountain people thinking they can prey on travellers crossing their territory." Huntsmarshal Wulfhart walked up to the man. "Anyway, have you our orders from Emperor Franz?"

"It's all here, huntsmarshal." The outrider tossed a satchel to Wulfhart. "I swear, you lot get yourselves in trouble the moment my company leaves! One day, I'm going to bring the emperor's orders to a camp already filled with shit and corpses!"

Wolfhard walked up to and collapsed on the same stump his group had been using as an improvised game table earlier. Now, he shared it with a few bodies.

"I'm going to find out who these people are." Eloise declared as she sat down next to him. "No one attacks the Empire and gets away with the act. There must be a reckoning... and soon."

Wolfhard gestured at the scores of enemy bodies littering the field, staining the snow under them in red. "I don't think these people "got away" with the act, dear sister."

* * *

 **KARL FRANZ**

 _Honour is all... chivalry is all..._

 _Honour is all... chivalry is all..._

 _Son of soil, thou art born unto labour and to serve, watched over by thy betters... thou shalt give unto thine fair liege the taxes she requires—_

"ENOUGH!" Emperor Karl Franz shouted.

The only other occupant in his tent, Ludwig Schwarzhelm, flinched ever so slightly. "Do you wish for me to leave, your imperial majesty?"

Franz shook his head, appalled at himself for losing composure. His body no longer glowed save for his eyes, but the voices remained as compelling as ever, and he had no doubt lesser men would never even think to resist the allure of their calls. They would simply stand up and obey the Lady's will.

His imperial majesty raised a hand at his adjutant. "N-no, champion, I did not summon you for nothing; I still have need of you."

With a voice more severe than usual and with a face set in grim reluctance, the emperor began to speak. "It had been thirteen men the previous day... how many is it have we lost to Morr this time?"

The Emperor's Champion let out a breath. "Sixteen men had taken their own lives, sire. Another three attempted to, but only succeeded in injuring themselves." He scowled bitterly. "Cowards, the lot of them."

Emperor Franz grimaced. Once the news had started to spread, not every man under his command took to the revelations with grace and restraint. It was a crucial part of Reiklander culture for soldiers to always come home to their families after a battle was won, and Franz's charisma and strength of will alone had kept them loyal and eager to keep fighting Chaos back in the Old World. Now that the men had come to realise that they may never come home again, a few Reiklanders had chosen to take the ultimate solution to the problems they faced and the sadness they felt.

"That is all I need, Schwarzhelm, thank you. Go on, you have my permission to leave."

Schwarzhelm bowed as he walked backward. "My lord." He then turned and cast aside the tent flaps blocking his path. In doing so, however, he revealed a most peculiar scene going on outside the emperor's lodgings.

"Well, what in Myrmidia's name are you doing, sergeant?" Schwarzhelm asked the black and white-clad state trooper standing outside Franz's tent, along with another soldier from Ostland he appeared to be escorting at swordpoint. Behind these two, an entire detachment of handgunners waited with firearms drawn.

"Count von Raukov asked that we bring this... thing..." The state sergeant spat as he glared at the soldier he was holding his blade to: a black-haired, pale-skinned woman with sunken eyes and dried lips. Her hands were bound in thick ropes. "...to be judged by Emperor Franz himself, champion."

Schwarzhelm examined the emaciated-looking woman cursorily before standing aside. "By all means, don't let me keep you." With that said, the champion walked out of sight.

"What is the meaning of this, soldier?" Franz had asked of the Ostlander as he dragged his captive into his tent by the shoulder. "What has this woman done?"

"It may look _like_ a pretty lass, your majesty," The state sergeant held his captive by the back of her head, making her stop looking at her boots to look at the emperor directly. "But underneath this lamb's facade lies a _wolf..._ a dead wolf."

The woman let out a dry laugh. "Stay a soldier, von Keller. You'd make for a _dreadful_ poet."

Franz instantly recognised a Parravonese accent when he heard one. Most of Bretonnia's diplomats and representatives to the Empire sported the same way of speaking. However, what _truly_ caught the emperor's attention was the subtle flash of white her sharp, elongated fangs often displayed as she talked.

He was about to speak his mind, but the state sergeant opened his mouth before he did.

"Silence, creature! You will not speak until the emperor said so! Until then, you will—"

"Let the thing speak, sergeant." Franz cut him off. "What brings you here in this dreary, godless world of ice and misery, vampire?"

The vampire grinned, whether in defiance or genuine amusement Franz did not know. He was more focused on how she bared her pointed canines. "You've certainly grown quite a bit taller since we last met, my emperor... though you still look very young..."

"We've met before, Blutsauger?" The emperor inclined a brow.

She nodded, her grin now a smile. "Do you not remember? It was just the beginning of your reign, and you were attending—"

"Spare me your lies, dead thing." The emperor spat.

Her eyes widened at that. "W-what? Surely you must—"

"You are here now, monster. Had we ever met in person before, you would have finally known what happens to those foolish enough to deny Morr's due." Franz's temper rose, and the faint glow in his blue eyes flared in intensity. "And you haven't answered me. Tell me what I wish to know; do not make me regret ever allowing you to explain yourself to me."

The creature of the night flinched, as if she never expected the emperor to talk to her as if she was less than the filth she was supposed to belong with, many centuries past. Calming herself, the vampire resolved to salvage her situation, since he did not recognise her.

"I value my independence more than anything. I never liked being told what to do, but unfortunately, the End Times are upon us, and I have no choice but to obey when Queen Neferata herself delegated to me a task... a task to deliver certain plans and schematics to none other than the Empire's supreme patriarch, your imperial majesty."

Franz was intrigued. How did Gelt came to be involved with the infamous queen of the vampires? "Do continue, creature. And be brief, I have other matters to tend to."

The undead woman nodded, almost demurely. "Of course. When I figured out that Balthasar Gelt would soon come to Ostland, I charmed one of Count von Raukov's soldiers and took her place, so I may deliver my package to the gold wizard without drawing too much attention. Alas, I never got the chance to do just that since you arrived to integrate him and his retinue into your army."

The vampire smiled again. "I am not one to give up easily, however. When the call was sounded to march forth to battle, I remained as a soldier of Ostland, wearing the colours of white and black and marching under the banners of the province's elector count. I fought Chaos with you that day, though I never expected I'd soon find myself taken away from one world to another."

She shrugged, her story concluded. "And here I am now, I suppose."

Karl Franz mulled over what the vile, dead thing told him for a while. "You do not look like one of von Carstein's gets, nor do you look like a hideous Necrarch, or one of those rabid, blood-maddened beasts — the Strigoi. You look alive enough to be mistaken for a _real_ woman, and you mentioned serving the witch-queen Neferata's bidding."

The emperor paused, taking in a breath. "This makes you a daughter-in-darkness to the Lahmian bloodline, does it not?"

"His imperial majesty shows... very surprising knowledge of vampirekind." The Lahmian seemed pleased. For a second, her emaciated features looked less pronounced. Franz could tell she hasn't had a drop of blood for a long while, but why would a wolf restrain herself in the company of sheep? She could certainly charm one of the state troopers easily enough, giving her a willing source of blood to slake her thirst for a long while.

"Tell me — how is it that you are found out?" Franz questioned. "Your despicable kind dabbles in seducing and enthralling the weak-willed to do your bidding; you could have easily hidden yourself among my army for as long as you wanted."

"I turned myself in." The vampire replied, simply and innocently. "When I learned that the supreme patriarch had been comatose, I thought my task was over then and there. When von Keller here announced to our detachment that the Imperial State Army was no longer in the Old World, I figured I might as well reveal myself and lend the full extent of my skills to you, in exchange for... well, the "sustenance" my kind requires."

Sergeant von Keller clenched his teeth together. "Vampire, what you're asking for is insane. The emperor would have to be mad to accept monstrous wenches like you in his army while letting you feed on his soldiers. You have made a foolish choice revealing yourself to us, and now you must suffer the price of vampirism."

Franz nodded, staring down the undead woman. "The sergeant speaks the truth. I'm not risking the lives of what few men I still have by allowing you to walk freely." He turned to von Keller, his mouth set in a grim line. "Take her away, soldier. The warrior priests would know what to do with a vampire in our midst."

The sergeant saluted as the vampire in his keeping lowered her head in defeat. "Right away, your imperial majesty. Come on, bloodsucker. You'll face judgement soon."

Emperor Franz sighed as the sergeant took the Lahmian by the shoulder and started walking away. He half-expected the bloodsucker to resist the moment he rejected her offer, and he knew she could tear apart the soldier escorting her along with the small detachment of handgunners waiting outside, should she wished. So why was this vampiric woman still not acting as was typical of her untrustworthy, debauched kind? She actually seemed civil, and had not attempted to enthrall anyone around her once, not even as she was led to her assured final death at the hands of his warrior priests.

As the emperor watched them leave, his mind already giving way to the voices once more, the vampire turned her head behind her shoulder and looked to him. She opened her mouth to whisper a single name — a name Franz had tried long and hard to banish from his memory.

"Drachenfels."

With that said, Sergeant von Keller escorted the vampire out of Franz's tent.

Several minutes had passed after they were all but gone, but the emperor still sat where he was, glowing eyes wide and head spinning at the sudden resurgence of memories — memories of his own close brush with death by an assassin's blade. Unconsciously, he reached down the bob in his throat and still found the faint scar his would-be murderer had gleefully left with his dirk. Franz knew he and many others would have perished that night when the Great Enchanter came back to life in the middle of a mummer's play gone dreadfully wrong, if it weren't for the presence of a rogue Lahmian vampire in the audience.

Suddenly, without thinking, Franz had gone off his seat and cast aside the flaps to his own tent. He raced across the snowy Imperial State camp, ignoring the puzzled looks directed to him from those he passed by. When he did reach the Ostlanders as they escorted their vampiric captive, the emperor put himself in their path, surprising the lot of them with his sudden appearance.

"I've made a mistake," He spoke to von Keller. His breath steamed. "I know who this vampire is."

The Lahmian looked up to him, hope dawning on her pale, starving face.

"My emperor? Are you well?" Von Keller did not seem to hear the emperor.

"I want you and your men to return to your posts _,_ sergeant." Franz ordered, firmly. The cold was getting to him, and he was in no mood to stand around outside in his indoors attire. "I will take custody of your prisoner myself. I believe we have many urgent matters to discuss."

The state sergeant hesitated. "Your majesty, I—"

"NOW, soldier!" Franz threateningly loomed down on the man as he screamed at his face. The glow in the emperor's eyes burned bright again, illuminating the fearful look he received from the sergeant. "That's an ORDER!"

Within moments, the Ostlanders had dispersed and left Karl Franz and his undead company alone. Franz turned around and grumbled under his breath as he gestured for the vampire to follow him back to his tent.

"Thank you." She uttered behind him as she followed. "For a second there, I thought you really were leaving me in the hands of zealots."

"I always repay my debts," He shrugged his broad shoulders. "A continued life for a continued unlife, I suppose."

When both of them had reached the relative warmth of the emperor's tent, Franz wasted no time retrieving his dagger from the wooden crate he had been using as a makeshift desk. The vampire reached out with her bound hands, and the emperor quickly sliced the ropes off, freeing her.

"Your blood... forgive me, but it's rather inviting..."

Franz realised she had been staring at the pulsing vein in his neck the whole time he was standing so close to her. Unconsciously, he backed away.

"How long was it since your last drop?" He warily inquired as he put his dagger inside his coat.

She did a mental count in her head, but her yellow, glinting eyes were still fixated on his throat. "It has been... three weeks since I last fed. I've travelled long and hard since I left Altdorf for Ostland, and I remember being hounded by witch hunters in Grubentreich. I lived under the shadows of trees for a while, and by the time I shook off my pursuers and reached Hochland, I've all but run out of Detlef's blood."

"Had you been any younger, Dieudonne, doubtless you'd have succumbed to your curse long ago." Franz noted idly. "You look older since I last saw you... which is why I didn't recognise you at first."

The Lahmian seemed to wince at the mention of her surname. "Please, just Genevieve. I do not like being reminded of my sixteen years of true life."

Karl Franz nodded. "Of course."

She smiled again. "My curse ages my body so long as the Red Thirst is not seen to, yes. I look old.. but you look..."

"Younger? Taller? Yes, I've been called as such many times in the recent days." The emperor grimaced, not at all pleased where the conversation was headed. "Why do you seem so surprised at how different I looked? I had the men spread the news around of how that elven witch-queen gave me her "blessing", have you not heard?"

"I've heard." Genevieve Dieudonne confirmed. "But it's oftentimes hard to differentiate between embellished rumours and the truth."

"That is true." Franz agreed.

She acknowledged him with a nod and continued to talk. "And your demeanour changed too; what happened to the Karl Franz I once knew, who often surrounded himself with his friends, told jokes, and spoke of his fondness for hunting, falconry and fine drink? The man I see before me now is a tireless soldier of his god and his nation — completely dedicated to the cause of order and mankind. He is fearless, selfless, determined... and a sub-par host to boot."

The emperor arched a brow at that. Indeed, he just realised they had been standing around as they talked, while perfectly sturdy chairs were available near the crate he used for a desk.

"For instance, you could've found us some chairs and brought some wine before we started talking." She smirked.

"The Empire is at war, Genevieve. Politeness and courtly manners won't help me secure the safety of a nation against daemons and barbaric northmen." He grumbled, irritated. "But you can sit, if you want. I'll bring the wine, though I feel it is too early to drink."

With that said, the vampire took to one of the seats inside the tent while the emperor brought out a pair of wooden cups, as well as his half-finished bottle of Grenzstadter White.

"So, what is this "package" you bring from Neferata to my supreme patriarch?" He had asked after he was properly seated adjacent to her. Franz poured himself and his "guest" some of the wine onto two cups, but purposely left Genevieve's half-filled.

"Since this world is no longer our own, I suppose there's no more harm in telling you now." She said as she took her own offered cup, but refrained from drinking its contents.

Within a few minutes, the vampire had informed the emperor of something called the "Auric Bastion", supposedly a defensive, magically-empowered weapon tailored to keep the Empire safe against Archaon's invasion. When Franz had asked why would Neferata help a nation of mortals she had dreams of ruling, Genevieve merely shrugged, apparently not knowing the Lahmian queen's true intent. Soon, of course, the conversation drifted to Genevieve herself, and how would the emperor deal with her, now that her presence was known.

"I think the men would understand, should you reveal who I am... _what_ I am to them." The vampire said. "Some of them may recognise me, even."

"Doubtless some would, and doubtless not all would have pleasant intentions in mind for you." Franz was quick to respond. "I think not, vampire. It is best if you were to remain hidden for now, disguised as another of my state troops."

"Under your personal command, I hope? I wouldn't want to deal with another Sergeant von Keller."

"Yes." He agreed. "We'll have to come up with a new identity for you after I had you "executed", but I'm sure we'll have enough time for that later. Right now," Franz reached into his coat and pulled out his dagger. "We need to slake that dark thirst of yours, before you turn into something I'd rather not have so close to my men."

Genevieve immediately reached out with her untouched cup, almost too eagerly. Franz saw how she licked her lips and her pointed teeth as he slashed a light cut in his wrist and let the first few droplets of his blood fall into her wine, empowering it with the essence of a Grail Knight. By the time the vampire's cup was almost full, she was practically cooing in delight at what the emperor so graciously offered her.

"Long have I waited for this, Karl Franz." She gasped. Franz politely looked away as the vampire noisily guzzled down the wine and his blood in the most unladylike of manners. Genevieve slurped down every drop and cleaned the insides of the cup with her tongue, not minding how revolting her actions must have looked.

By the time she was done, Franz could immediately see the changes taking effect. Indeed, her fangs seemed to shrink, her eyes returned to their normal dark brown colouration, and she looked just as young as she was back then, so many years ago.

"That was..." Genevieve put aside her empty cup, looking dazed and a little lost for words. "...that was _sublime_. I dare say I never sampled such an exquisite taste before. I regret not taking a draught when I had the chance in Altdorf."

"Have a care not to push your luck overmuch, vampire." Franz warned sternly. "The only reason I'm even providing you sustenance is that I know you for a fact to be favoured by Sigmar Himself, alongside that "genius" dramatist you've taken for a get."

"Oh, Detlef is not my get." She denied innocently. "He is simply a lover — nothing sinister, I assure you. In fact, I don't believe I've ever sired a child-in-darkness before."

"Don't start now." The emperor said, more coldly than he intended. "Make no mistake... you are a special case, Genevieve. Your dark powers corrupt, but you don't let them change you. I cannot say the same for those you might deem worthy of the Blood Kiss."

The vampire shrugged. "I do not intend to, dear emperor." She smiled that peculiar, vampiric smile of hers. "Now then, what is to be my name and role for this play you're conducting? I am not Lilli Nissen, but even a half-dead bloodsucker like me can make for much less unpleasant company."

* * *

 **KATARINA**

In the quiet of the desolate, wind-swept ruins of a once-thriving coastal town, in a frozen environment that often reminded one of the northern realms of Chaos-worshipping barbarians and daemons, there lived one woman — a regal, dignified thing flung from her beloved nation at its hour of need, and to another land she knew nothing of. Tzarina Katarina Borisovna Bokha, the crowned ruler of the besieged nation of Kislev, spent her days alone, distracting herself from the plight of her people by conjuring sculptures and buildings and onion-shaped spires out of ice.

That was not to say that Katarina had not tried to find methods to return to Kislev, no. During the night, when the untapped, immensely-powerful sorceries of the lands would surge through the cracks in the earth in a manner not unlike a tidal wave, Katarina would draw upon this overflowing font of magic and transform herself into a near-omniscient magus, able to see far and wide, perceiving wonders and terrors alike mere mortals could not even begin to see. During this time, the tzarina would be busy meditating, searching for her lost homeland in the material plane. She would then formulate ways of magical transport, should she ever find Kislev again. While her efforts had so far met with failure, the daughter of Kislev does not easily bend; Katarina would simply have her meal of venison, wild herbs and fish, clear her mind and practice her craft by making more things out of ice, sleep for the night, then try again in the morning.

Of course, there were days when strange people clad in furs would come and investigate the new towers of ice jutting out in the horizon. Most immediately fled when they saw the queenly ice mage demonstrating her considerable gifts, but some men did not. Katarina could plainly see the desire written in their eyes as they looked to her, either out of simple lust or after realising the amount of power they would have at their disposal should they ever make the tzarina submit to their will.

These men, at one point or another, would surprise Katarina by emerging from the shadows while she was distracted; they would try to carry her off to somewhere, presumably with unsavoury intent. In response to the unwanted attempts at abduction, Katarina would simply gesture at the men responsible before they could take her too far away from her temporary home. If they were not simply obliterated before her sorcerous might, the tzarina found new use for these men as permanent additions to her thriving community of ice-people and ice-buildings, serving to warn those hoping to try their luck with the Kislevite ruler.

While disposing of would-be abductors was a good source of practice and broke the dull monotony of Katarina's day, the ice queen knew they would never stop coming to her. Soon, a local warlord would have heard rumours of men entering a known frost sorceress' domain and never returning, and it would not take too long before such men would gather enough followers to see if the rumours were true. Katarina would be alone by herself should an armed host of savages come marching on her home; she would freeze veritable scores of her invaders solid, but she knew all too well that she would eventually be overwhelmed once the survivors of her onslaughts come back with more eager, better-prepared warriors, each hoping to be the hero to kill the wicked frost-witch of the coast.

With these grim thoughts in mind, the ice queen's resolve to return to her homeland strengthened. She prayed to Ursun for enough time before the savages come for her. She prayed for a swift return to Kislev, and the most painful of deaths to Archaon and his despicable minions. She prayed for her safety, and that of her poor subjects back home.

She prayed for salvation.

One foggy day, while the tzarina was hunting for deer by conjuring tall tendrils of razor-sharp ice from the snow underneath the poor animals, she sighted a peculiar collection of man-shaped profiles in the distance. Squinting to get a better look, Katarina was surprised to see an armed party of strangers fast approaching, with some having horses as mounts.

Quickly retreating from her position before she was sighted in turn, Katarina fled back to her ice-village. By now, the ruined settlement had looked like a miniature version of Praag's merchant quarter, complete with tall, very detailed ice buildings, lifelike sculptures of a couple hundred citizens interacting with one another, and even a few fanciful creatures such as giant bears, frostfiends, manticores and wyverns.

After gathering her weapons and outfitting herself for battle, Tzarina Katarina stood and waited in the middle of the only path leading to her domain, in full battlefield gear and regalia. Even while bedecked in a gilded suit of half-plate steel armour over her queenly robes, the ruler of Kislev still projected an aura of majesty and grace. Her right hand was covered by a velvet glove, and it clasped the hilt of the Gospodar tribe's ancestral weapon: Moroz the Fearfrost — a gromril longsword perpetually sheathed in a thick layer of biting magical ice. Her left hand remained unoccupied for casting spells, but it was encased in a segmented steel gauntlet.

Soon, the sound of men and their horses slowly approaching registered in the tzarina's ears. She couldn't see through the fog to see her guesrs clearly, but she need not to. She only wanted them gone. Channeling the powerful magics of the land for her own use, Katarina casted a spell on herself and began to speak in the pitiless chill of Kislev's khan-queens of old.

"Halt and go no further, trespassers!" She spoke in the tongue of her native land, taking care to emphasize the harshness of it. "You seek to enter my domain, but you are not welcome in this place! Turn back now, and return from whence you came! There is nothing for you here!"

Silence answered her, as always. She was about to turn and go back to her business, when unexpectedly, she heard someone cough before shouting out loud,

"Honoured daughter of Kislev! We approach as friends, not trespassers!" A woman's voice replied, in perfect, aristocratic Kislevarin.

Hope renewing in her heart, but wary of daemonic trickery, Katarina turned back around and called out into the mist, "Who goes there? Identify yourselves, or face my wrath!"

"Stalwart defenders of the Empire!" The voice responded again. "We serve Emperor Karl Franz I, of the House of the Second Wilhelm!"

Katarina sighed in relief. While she hoped her own men had come to take her back to Kislev, Karl Franz's men could perform such a task well enough. The Empire had always been friends to Kislev.

"Approach then, men of the hammer! I will see to you now!" She said, her voice already sounding a little higher as the effects of her spell started to wear off.

"To whom is it I speak to?" The woman's voice sounded again. Her tone was more hesitant this time, and it was clear she did not expect a proper answer to her query. The tzarina considered responding in kind, but decided against it. They might scoff and turn around, thinking her for a liar. The last thing she needed was to alienate her potential saviors.

"—you think this might be a trick? Daemons could be lurking here, you know." A man's voice could be faintly heard, in Reiklander-accented Reikspiel. He sounded young, and his bored tone was lightly coated in sarcasm.

"Daemons? Here? Good! All this walking around makes me want to sink my az into something." Katarina recognised a dwarf's voice when she heard one. This one must be an outcast or an adventurer from the Karaz Ankor, now a soldier for the Empire.

"The minions of Chaos are not things to be taken lightly, ranger." Katarina heard the same woman she spoke to talking now. She was talking in Reikspiel now, and she sounded every bit like an affluent Reiklander highborn, making her come off as snobbish and disdainful of her lessers.

The Imperials continued to talk as they traversed the thick mist in an overly cautious manner, oblivious to the tzarina standing just close by them. When she grew tired of their blundering, Katarina marched off and followed the sound of their voices. When she finally met with her guests, however, the most paranoid of the Imperials immediately drew their weapons at the sight of her.

"Begone, daemon!" One of the dwarfs in their party levelled his thunderer at the tzarina and fired a shot. The Kislevite merely waved her gauntlet-covered hand in front of her, shielding herself with a thick wall of ice she brought up from the snow under her boots. When the handgun shot failed to penetrate Katarina's wall, she lowered her hand and the ice promptly crumbled and collapsed.

"You flat-faced, bearded idiot!" The woman Katarina had spoken to screamed at the dwarf. She was garbed in a typical witch hunter's vestments, along with lobstered steel plates along her shoulders, arms, torso and knees. She had blue eyes sparkling with fire and life, and skin that seemed to be well on its way to losing its previously-tanned complexion.

"Do you realise what you've done, ranger? You very nearly just shot Tzarina Bokha herself! The _Ice Queen of Kislev_ , killed by a drunken, imbecilic, trigger-happy DWARF!" She continued to shout as she bore down on her victim, causing the poor dwarf to slowly shrink away in fear.

"Aye, he's an impulsive lad, but ye can't fault him for being careful!" Another dwarf put himself between the witch huntress and his kin. This one seemed visibly older than the rest, and he carried a grudge-raker scattergun in his hands and a pair of ornate axes behind his back. "Everyone believes there ain't no daemons about, but it doesn't hurt to expect them all the same, templar!"

The witch huntress was unrelenting. "Stand aside, Okrundsson! Your soldiers drink their weight in ale all day and lack proper discipline! It's about time you—"

"There are no daemons here?" Katarina interjected in the Imperial tongue before the altercation could escalate. She seemed not at all fazed at having almost been shot. "I would appreciate it greatly if you share everything you know about this place with me, Imperials. I have been living here by myself for weeks, but it seems you know more about it than I do."

"Your glacial majesty," The witch huntress calmed herself and addressed the tzarina again, up close and more personal this time. "We would be more than glad to tell you what we know of the lands we are in, but I believe this isn't the place to discuss this."

Another templar, a man that resembled her colleague quite a bit, stepped forth. "We've been hounded by hostile savages for two days now, my tzarina." The witch hunter was thin and of average height. He had pale skin and grey eyes, prominent cheekbones, and a young face with the beginnings of a beard forming on his jaw and around his mouth.

"We drive our attackers back bloody and humbled every single time, but they always come back. With that said, I believe standing out here in the open won't do us any favours." He said as he casually hoisted up his repeater handgun, letting its uppermost barrel rest on his shoulder.

All too familiar with unwanted attention from the inhabitants of the land, the tzarina saw wisdom in the Sigmarites' words. "Follow me, then. It should be safe inside the home I made for myself out here."

The Imperials walked after the tzarina, out of the mist and into the place she made her own. When they finally caught sight of the "improvements" she had made to the ruined coastal town, most could not help but gape in wonder and amazement, especially the dwarfs. The only ones who do not seem overly affected seemed to be the two similar-looking witch hunters, and the quiet raven knight of Morr trailing behind them both.

"Sweet Sigmar, look at this place." A man Katarina _did_ recognise, Huntsmarshal Markus Wulfhart, spoke up as he and his men marched after his Kislevite host. "Rebuilding this town would take months, if not years. Her majesty did it in a couple of weeks with her magic."

Katarina felt pride at the fruits of her boredom and incessant worrying, but it was not her way to let her emotions show. "In a matter of course, I would not be able to use my powers to such a degree, but the unusually potent magical reserves coming from these lands greatly empowered my abilities. I feel much stronger here than I do in Kislev, in fact. This is a strange thing to say, I know."

"How is it that her majesty ended up in this cold and dreary place, if I may be so bold as to ask?" The witch hunter in the group had asked as he looked around while walking, examining the towers and houses the ice queen had conjured.

"I have no true answer to that question, templar. I was at Volksgrad in the middle of battle with my men against Archaon's forces, when suddenly, a bright flash of light took my sight away," Katarina frowned at the memory. "The first thing I saw after regaining use of my eyes was a town in ruins, perpetually beset by snowstorms and overlooked by a great cliff pockmarked with caves that howl in the wind."

Upon hearing her words, some of the Imperials turned their heads to regard the great cliff she mentioned. It loomed over the town along with the towers Katarina had summoned, and indeed, one could hear how the caves made eerie shrieks as the wind from the sea blew past them.

"Thankfully, now that the Empire has found a way to reach me, I can return to my own lands and see to its defence once again." Katarina said, to which she received silence from her guests. Even the dwarfs had abruptly gone quiet. "You _do_ know how to return to the Old World, yes?"

They hesitated to speak yet again. Katarina let them continue to walk in silence as her hope slowly faded away, leaving nothing but disappointment in its wake. They told her nothing thus far, but the tzarina did not need words to deduce that the Imperials were just as lost as she was, unable to return to their nation in turmoil.

"This might be... difficult, to take in," The witch huntress began, breaking the oppressive silence at last. "But these lands... this _world_ we are in... it is not our own, your majesty."

At that, Tzarina Katarina abruptly stopped walking. She slowly turned around, and gave the templar a blank look. "Please explain."

* * *

 **AURELETH**

The wood elven waystalker stared at the sea that stretched in front of her. Several days had gone past since Karl Franz had his men start moving, and from what the elf could gather after she last accompanied her charge to convene with his two elector counts, the Imperial State Army seemed to be drawing near their goddess-given destination at last.

For now, however, Aureleth had chosen to part from the emperor's personal retinue to be by herself for a short while. Being in Karl Franz's presence and safeguarding him was her duty, and while she had come to tolerate the emperor's severe and business-minded company to a degree, it was his constant followers Aureleth could scarcely stand.

For instance, Count von Raukov was too morose and xenophobic, and Graf Todbringer was loud, unsophisticated, and perpetually reeked of Middenlander ale. The warrior priests could hardly stand to look upon or acknowledge the heathen elf in the emperor's retinue, and the Imperial State officers treated the waystalker like an unwashed savage, especially the noble-born ones. Ludwig Schwarzhelm almost never spoke and seemed like a blank slate hollowed out by the horrors of duty and war, Magister Lord Starke spent an inordinate amount of time being cryptic and uselessly meditating, and the Reiksguard — when not grudgingly acknowledging her usefulness — could sometimes be seen to eye the waystalker in suspicion, not fully trusting her just yet despite her assurances that she was not an assassin sent to gain the emperor's trust, only to strike him down when he least expected it.

Aureleth sighed. She knew if she were to be stuck in the company of humans in perpetuity, she must learn to start living among them, lest she go mad from the mental burdens of being the only asrai in this new world Lileath had taken her to.

The waystalker took in a deep breath of the cool salt-sea air, enjoying the feeling of it invigorating her and strengthening her resolve. She was about to turn back and return to the emperor's retinue, when she heard the distinctive crack of an Imperial handgun line discharging. Narrowing her eyes, Aureleth followed the sound until she was close enough to hear the screams of dying men.

Drawing her enchanted longbow, the asrai started sprinting toward a tree before surging up and grasping a low-lying branch. Pulling herself up to grasp another, higher branch, Aureleth started scaling the tree's height, only stopping once she was high enough above the ground. Making not a sound as she moved across the branches, the waystalker shifted from tree to tree as she made her way back to where Franz had his army camp down for the afternoon.

When she did find her way back to camp, however, Aureleth found it unnecessary to participate in battle, since it looked to be already won in the Imperials' favour. While a few of those strange humans in animal furs foolishly tried to hold their ground against the onslaught of a demigryph charge, another, larger group of fleeing barbarians were mercilessly cut down by handgunner fire.

While Karl Franz was nowhere in sight, his griffon could be clearly seen cleaving a bloody swathe into the enemy's disorganised ranks. Deathclaw enthusiastically tore into the savages as he devoured their flesh, scattered their entrails and drenched himself in their blood.

It was only a moment before the last of the resisting savages were violently put down by the dismounted Reiksguard. Those who ran from the battle were scourged with volleys of helstorm rockets and buffeted by fireballs, lightning bolts and arcing streams of molten metal from the battle wizards, ensuring that only a handful of savages lived to tell the tale of their band's near-annihilation.

"—what you can for the wounded. Do a munitions count, gather all the bodies into a pile, and set it alight. Get to it, men." It was then that Aureleth found Karl Franz, who was inspecting the battlefield while issuing orders to some of his officers. Oddly, he carried no weapon and wasn't in his armour, suggesting he uncharacteristically did not participate in battle.

The waystalker climbed down her perch and navigated across the field of bodies. Once she was near the emperor, he silenced the state trooper previously talking to him with a raised hand before turning to regard the wood elf.

"I leave for a few hours and you humans start killing each other." Aureleth remarked, her gloved hands still clutching her longbow. "Who were these fools, and what compelled them to attack?"

"Desperate mountain bandits or ill-equipped northmen raiders, it matters little to my men." Franz snorted. "If you must know, one Todbringer's swordsmen patrols ran into these people while making their rounds in the woods. They approached as tentative friends, but these barbarians responded with a hail of stone arrows."

The blue-clad state trooper beside Franz nodded. "Aye, we were lucky nobody died when they attacked, and our sergeant was smart enough to have us turn back and lure these bastards into camp. Bloody shame he got killed on the way back, though."

Aureleth thought on the short-lifer's words, when Franz suddenly stepped forth and walked off, toward the corpse-strewn battlefield. Forcing herself to drop her line of thinking for now, the wood elf stalked off after her charge, leaving the soldier from Middenland behind.

"I do not think it is safe to walk here, human." The waystalker uneasily began, after reaching Franz. She marched in step with him as they stepped further and further away from the Empire camp. "Perhaps we should turn back to your men? There could be more of these barbarians lurking about."

"My soldiers have reaped a bloody toll for every man of the Empire slain in cold blood, Aureleth. Not many of our foes still live, and I doubt they'd come back for another one-sided slaughter by our hands." Franz replied, almost automatically. His gaze was still directed to the corpses lying about before him.

"Reaped a bloody toll?" Aureleth rolled her eyes, Franz had a tendency to state obvious things. "How many men have you lost?"

"Six dead and eleven wounded soldiers. Not too many losses for an engagement as large as this," Franz said, keeping up the monotone. "But in these lands, losing even a single man could make the difference between victory and defeat. Our foes could very well be numberless... but we are not."

The two of them fell silent for a while. Aureleth was content with going back to perform her duty, and Franz seemed just as inclined to keep quiet. From his blank, far-seeing expression, the emperor seemed to be already thinking on something else.

"You know," Unexpectedly, Karl Franz opened his mouth and spoke up. "I never asked how you are coping with this, elf. You are the only one of your kind in this world; surely you must be affected by this in some way." He looked down to his waystalker companion, intently awaiting a response.

Aureleth decided she'd leave him waiting. Franz, in response, kept up his unblinking stare. The waystalker half-expected the emperor to suddenly start shifting his gaze all over her form as was expected of humans, but strangely, he remained focused on what little of her face remained unconcealed by her veil and hood. Eventually, she stopped looking ahead and turned to match his faintly-glowing blue glare with that of her white-irised own.

"Stop staring, and I'll consider answering you, human." She chided him, and after another second spent in awkwardness, he wordlessly complied. She swore the glow in his eyes intensified for a split-second, perhaps out of amusement.

"Well..." Aureleth looked back ahead. "I think you shouldn't waste your time worrying about how I feel, being the only asrai here in this plane of existence. I already spoke much of how waystalkers often spent centuries by themselves in the deepwood, have I not? Although I'd like to be in the company my kind from time to time, I am not unused to isolation, and I am never truly alone; I have my gods—"

She looked back to Franz, shadowed eyes narrowed in mischief. "—and I have _you,_ Karl Franz, along with all the lackeys and pets you bring with you... no matter how insulting, lack-witted, or uncivilised I find you all to be."

The emperor inclined a brow at that. "And here I thought I've grown on you, Aureleth. Some of my men can be insufferable, yes, but I do try my best to be civil and friendly to you." He sported a ghost of a smile now.

The edge of the waystalker's lips twisted upward briefly. "Oh, you have indeed grown on me, Karl Franz... but make no mistake, this does _not_ make us friends. Talk to me once you've grown longer ears and larger eyes."

Franz visibly forced away a grin creeping up to his face. "A proud daughter of Athel Loren, casually advocating mutation among humans... truly, these are the End Times. I shudder to think what fate has next in store for—"

Suddenly, without so much as a warning, a trio of "corpses" lying down a few paces from the pair sprang up from the ground and advanced on Aureleth and her charge, stone weapons drawn and screaming battle-cries.

"Have a care!" Emperor Franz cried out. "We are not alone!"

In response, the waystalker whipped her body around to face the savages in battle. After a split-second examination, she concluded the foes were already too close to use her longbow effectively. With teeth clenched in contempt, the wood elf put her current weapons away and drew her twin swords.

"Stay back, human." Aureleth hissed through her teeth. She warned Franz something like this would happen, but he foolishly disregarded her. "I'll take care of this."

"Do not tell me what I must do, elf." He growled back, midly surprising Aureleth with how venomous he sounded. "Take those two on the left. The one on the right is mine."

She tried to protest. "You don't have a weapon. Here, at least take this blad—"

"I'm fine, Aureleth!" Franz cut her off. His eyes were glowing fiercely now. "Never mind me! Look to the damned foe!"

The waystalker shook her head at the stubborn idiot and crouched down to her battle stance, with one forward-facing blade held in one gloved hand, and another held back in a reverse-grip in the other. Two out of three of the savages, a lanky, older-looking one with an axe and a shield, as well as a black-haired, stocky woman wielding a poleaxe, raced each other to fight the asrai ranger first.

When the time came to defend herself and her charge, Aureleth snaked to the side and avoided the axe-man's downward swing. Before he could retract his weapon or move his shield to defend himself, the waystalker surged up next to her foe and lunged with her reversed blade, plunging the length of it deep into the savage's armpit. The man gasped and his weapon slipped from his limp grasp, but the waystalker was not done yet. Without a sound, she raised her free sword above her head and quickly swung it down against her opponent's still-outstretched arm, severing it from the elbow. Before the man could even begin to scream at the loss of his limb, Aureleth unsheathed her reversed blade from the savage's flesh, gathered momentum with a single, elegant spin of the body, and swiftly ended her foe's misery with a stroke of her blade to his neck, cleanly relieving him of his head.

As the headless man stumbled and fell, his female companion hesitated for a moment, astounded at how the elf disposed of her foe in just four seconds. That moment was gone as quick as it arrived, however, and Aureleth was forced to shift positions several times as her poleaxe-wielding foe came at her with wild swings, thrusts, and slashes, intending to overwhelm her through brute strength.

Meanwhile, Emperor Franz stood his ground and kept his eyes focused up front as the third savage bore down on him, wielding a bearded greataxe made out of what appeared to be real, castle-forged steel. The barbarian hefted his weapon and uttered out calls to Franz as he advanced, in what sounded like a mocking, challenging tone. He even laughed when he got close enough to see that the emperor wielded no weapon — not even a dagger, it seemed. Of course, the savage received no reaction from Franz, who refused to be intimidated by someone so far below his station — someone he could easily demolish with just his hands if need be.

When his foe ran close enough to initiate a charging attack, Franz did not move an inch from his position. The charging savage, realising that his unarmed opponent seemed to grow taller and larger the closer he advanced, was too late to notice that the cold-eyed emperor significantly dwarfed him up close, and that he did not seem to dread the prospect of fighting unarmed.

The barbarian slowed down his pace, feeling as if he chose the wrong opponent. His momentum had lost enough wind, that by the time he half-heartedly swung his axe to strike the emperor down, Franz easily intercepted the weapon mid-strike and grasped it by the haft. With a single tug, he near-effortlessly wrenched the axe away from his attacker's grasp. Stunned by Franz's strength, the savage stood in abject, open-mouthed fear as his opponent reared back and smashed his fist against his head. Much to Franz's own surprise, the sheer, bone-breaking might of his blow swept his attacker off his feet and propelled him a couple of feet above the ground, blood leaking from every opening on his face. The savage landed several paces from Franz and tumbled a few times before coming to rest on his back, no longer moving.

On her end, Aureleth had almost completely exhausted her opponent with her artful dodging, but the savage stubbornly kept trying to land a successful hit, forcing Aureleth to keep away. Her adversary's unpredictable swings deterred the waystalker from ending the fight seconds ago, but she had finally lost patience. After slinking away from yet another missed swing, Aureleth put her swords back into their sheathes, snatched a pair of throwing knives from her shoulder-brace, and swiftly heaved both of them at her foe.

The savage yelped as the twin projectiles struck and pinned themselves into her shoulder and upper torso. The waystalker, with another pair of throwing knives in her hands, swiftly advanced on her reeling foe. Halfway through, she quickly took aim and flung the knife in her right hand, hitting her opponent by the chest for a second time. The savage took the hit with clenched teeth, seemingly unaffected by it. Roaring in frothing-at-the-mouth rage, she heaved her poleaxe up in the air and quickly plunged it back down, intending to cleave the waystalker in two as she approached. Once again, Aureleth evaded the slow-moving, heavy-handed blow at the last second by twisting to the side, and she used her gathered momentum to augment her strength as she threw herself at the woman, seizing her by the throat with her unoccupied hand.

Weakened by her many wounds, the savage could scarcely resist as the wood elf forced her down on her back to the snow. The barbarian knew she was defeated, but she shouted, cried out and held up her arms to defend herself — to delay the inevitable. Aureleth had no choice but to stab her downed opponent several times to make her stop flailing.

With the battle over, Aureleth sat up straight and sighed at the bloody corpse lying below her. The short-lifer could have died a much cleaner, less painful death with a slit throat, but she just _had_ to keep fighting.

"Are you alright, elf?" Aureleth looked behind her shoulder and saw Karl Franz trudging through the bloody snow to her. He looked as he was before, save for his bloody knuckle and the greataxe he held in his other hand.

The wood elf stood up, turned around and glared. "I'd make for a poor excuse of a waystalker should these barbarians even scratch me, human. _Of_ _course_ I'm alright!" She could not help but raise her voice at the end.

"You seem... upset, Aureleth." Franz stated the obvious. He actually appeared sheepish. "Have I offended you in some way? If so, I apolo—"

The waystalker clenched her teeth. "You bloody stubborn fool!" She hissed. "If you only heeded me and turned back, none of this would have happened! Had I neglected to accompany you on your foolish stroll, surely these barbarians would have killed you!"

Franz took a step back. His expression was now blank, unfeeling. It was as though a knight's impassive visor descended upon his face.

Aureleth wasn't finished with him yet, however. "And why in Isha's name did you refuse when I offered you a weapon to defend yourself? Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed, Karl Franz?"

"Emperor Franz!"

Both of them turned to see a large group of state troopers from different provinces approaching. The one leading them — a red-haired Reiklander lieutenant with a plumed flat cap and a pair of thick scarves covering his neck and lower head — saluted his liege as he and his men came to a stop.

"You've walked a little too far ahead from camp, my lord! One of the sentries said he spotted you in combat with a trio of savages, but it appears he was mistaken; you seem to be fine!"

Aureleth wiped the blood from her blade as Franz stiffly nodded in greeting to the new arrivals.

"The waystalker and I are both quite safe out here, von Witzland." The emperor casually dropped the axe he was holding, letting it rest among the dozens of raiders his men had slaughtered earlier.

The lieutenant dropped his salute and relaxed his stance. "Of course, your imperial majesty. Still, I think it's best if we turn back and remain in the safety of camp. There could be creatures more dangerous than mere savages prowling around these treacherous woods."

"This short-lifer shows much wisdom, Karl Franz." The waystalker couldn't help but let some bitterness seep into her tone.

Franz nodded, briefly turning to her before looking back to his soldier. "Yes, of course. Lead the way, lieutenant."

Aureleth silently followed after the humans as they turned to head back to camp. She chided herself for forgetting her place and losing her temper; it was her duty to safeguard her charge... _not_ advise him on what she thought was the proper course of action. After all, to the emperor, she was just another of his protectors, nothing more.

After reaching camp, Emperor Franz bid his men thanks and told them to rest for the long march on the morrow. Aureleth said nothing throughout most of the afternoon and the evening; she continued to follow her charge, though she was too angry to talk further with him. Franz himself remained as he was before — the human stared ahead into the horizon as though haunted by some past misdeed, and he even winced every once in a while, as if in pain.

Although she'd much rather not admit to it, seeing the emperor like this made the waystalker feel a small measure of guilt for shouting at him. It was clear something was troubling him, and Aureleth feared he might get himself killed one day and put a premature end to her duty as a result. She'd gladly lay down her own life if it meant fulfilling Queen Ariel's command.

"Karl Franz," The waystalker finally mustered the will to talk. It was late in the evening, and the emperor was just about to enter his tent to retire for the night.

Franz stopped walking and turned to her. He looked wearier than ever.

"Is it the burden of command that is plaguing your mind?" She hazarded a guess, half-expecting him to just turn back around and leave her. "Or is it the pain of having been taken from your family — from your Empire?"

The emperor grimaced, shaking his head. "Do you ever wonder why I do not revere Lileath? Ever since I drank from her accursed Grail, I've been endlessly hounded by voices compelling me to obey her every word and fulfil her every whim. Had I been a lesser-willed man... had I been less faithful to Sigmar, doubtless you'd be speaking to a very different person this night, Aureleth."

He turned around and made to enter his tent. "We should talk more in the morning... gute Nacht, waystalker."

Aureleth said nothing and watched Franz disappear behind the flaps to his tent. Lileath was a very compelling goddess; it must be extremely mentally taxing for Franz to resist her voice each minute he stood awake. As a matter of fact, the waystalker was amazed her charge was still sane despite what he had to endure. Truly, Sigmar was fortunate to have followers as devoted as Franz.

With a sigh, Aureleth positioned herself next to the entrance to her charge's temporary lodgings. She knelt down, neatly placed her weapons down on the ground in front of her, and steaded her breathing. Closing her eyes, the waystalker descended into a sleep-like trance.

* * *

 **WOLFHARD**

Upon being informed that she was much, _much_ farther from Kislev as she originally imagined as a result of Lileath's meddling, Tzarina Bokha took the news without any outward reaction. She merely requested her guests to leave her be while she meditated and prayed. It was another day before the Ice Queen departed from the ice-spire she made for herself, seemingly resigned and accepting of her fate. She still hadn't given up on finding a way to return to Kislev, but she said she'll make the best of her situation by assisting her new Imperial allies with her ice-magic.

Now, after three more days had gone and went, it was midnight upon New Praag, as Eloise had dubbed the ice-village. According to Huntsmarshal Wulfhart, the Imperial State Army should arrive very early in the morning, mere hours from the current time.

In remembrance of their distant nations and in celebration of the end of her solitary lifestyle, Tzarina Bokha had served her guests venison seasoned with sea-salt, salmon smoked over a fire, roasted rabbit legs, and even bear meat, with each dish being supplemented by leeks, onions, berries and wild mushrooms. Wulfhart and Eloise helped with the preparing the food, and by the end of it, Wolfhard was very surprised at the quality of their cooking. When the ale was brought out courtesy of Cousin Okri and his rangers, the witch hunter considered the feast complete.

They all ate well that night, and there were many toasts given to fallen or absent friends and to lost homelands. When the sun rose up and the first of Emperor Franz's outriders came riding down the ice-gates, Tzarina Bokha and the Imperial advance force received their comrades in the Imperial State Army with open arms. Many among the state troops gawked at their new home, and even Emperor Franz himself seemed impressed at the spires and buildings the tzarina had made with her magic. After giving his thanks, the emperor was more than happy to accept the tzarina's aid, and they both expressed their desire to return to their nations soon, after fulfilling Lileath's will.

Of course, after only a few hours of rest, work on New Praag immediately begun on Franz's command. Over the course of several weeks, battalions of state troops cut down swathes of forest land, using the lumber either to augment the existing ice-walls with more fortifications, or to build warmer shelters for those who understandably refused to live inside buildings made out of magical ice. Others became hunters and fishermen, supplying their comrades with their daily rations. Only a few had any knowledge of smithing, and as a result, many had to wait a long amount of time to get their weapons and armour repaired or replaced. Thankfully, relief came when some of Cousin Okri's rangers volunteered to become smiths themselves, and indeed, the quality of dwarfen-made smithing vastly surpassed what their manling counterparts made.

With Franz's permission, the rest of Cousin Okri's dawi wanderers began to explore and map the area around town, and Khoril Rudriksson, the dwarf giantslayer, promised to bring knowledge of the northern lands should he somehow live to come back from seeking his Doom. Most of the wizards, under the leadership of Magister Lord Starke, began to delve deep into the magical properties of the new world through intense meditation, and those few who chose to follow Tzarina Bokha assisted the Ice Queen in her search for a magical path back to the Old World. Wolfhard, Eloise and Sir Todwunsch had not been idle; the two Sigmarite templars and the Black Guard of Morr were in charge of keeping watch over Franz's Norscan captives, and they occasionally had to contribute to other tasks as well, such as accompanying the warrior priests during services with the troops.

Almost everyone kept their skills sharp with early morning drills and afternoon marches headed by elector counts von Raukov and Todbringer. As for Emperor Franz, whenever he wasn't either training or directing the efforts of his soldiers, his imperial majesty did a little bit of everything, including menial tasks such as hauling cut lumber and fishing. Indeed, the men seemed to work much harder whenever the emperor came to provide them with his assistance.

After an entire month had passed since the imperials settled down, morale in New Praag was high. The rate of suicide among the soldiers had dropped, thanks to the significantly improved conditions. Food was plentiful despite the lack of arable land, and security around the newly-settled town was ironclad. There had been many barbarian raids over the month, but all were repulsed with minimal casualties and very few survivors for the enemy. Very soon, the Imperials had their own fleet of fishing boats scouring the shores for fish and sea cows, as well as a makeshift wharf to haul their goods into. It was only a matter of time before Franz had to order an outpost built outside the settlement, to serve as an early warning system against a concentrated barbarian raid.

Without the threat of Chaos overtaking the world eating away at his mind, Wolfhard actually felt content. He always hated snow, but the harsh, wintry conditions could be easily endured with enough layers of cloth around one's body, and the abundant resources the fertile lands around New Praag had offered were enough to sustain everyone for several decades, even a century if they rationed. While a few bloodthirsty types would probably say life had become boring for the men of the Empire, many including Wolfhard found the prospect of continued peace very appealing, after spending most of their lives engaged in conflict and war.

With a long sigh, the witch hunter put on his coat and hat and stepped outside, eager to start yet another peaceful day at work with his half-sister and her Morrite retainer. He knew he was being treasonous for thinking so, but Wolfhard hoped he would never have to return to the Old World.

"Templar!"

Wolfhard was shaken out of his reverie with the appearance of a black-haired woman garbed in a Reiklander's state trooper livery. Her uniform markings indicated she held the rank of sergeant, but her pale, extremely young face made the witch hunter more than a little wary of this soldier.

The state trooper saluted the templar as she arrived. "Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but you are Herr Wolfhard Richter the Sigmarite templar, are you not?" She asked as soon as she relaxed her stance.

The witch hunter slowly nodded. "There are only two witch hunters in this town, sergeant, and they both owe patronage to Sigmar. Do you need something from me?"

"Emperor Franz himself assigned me to assist you and Fräulein Eloise von Mannstedt during prisoner duty, sir." The sergeant responded in her distinctive, low-class Reiklander brogue. "I may be inexperienced, but I'm very willing to work in order to earn my place. Just say the word, and I'll get it done, sure enough."

Wolfhard spent another two seconds examining the strange woman in front of him. There was something odd and vaguely familiar about her; it was as though he met with her before. "Well, I hope you don't mind working alongside a Black Guard, then. Do you have a name we can call you by, soldier?"

The state trooper smiled. "Of course, sir. Gisele Weiss, at your service."

* * *

 **MANCE**

The gasps and coughs of a dying man filled the air. Blackened by a dark, flaky substance covering most of his skin, suffering from hideous burns covering most of his form, and sundered by half a dozen breach-type wounds as a result of extremely fast projectiles forcing themselves into his body, Alfyn "Crowkiller" did not cut a pretty sight in his death throes, Mance Rayder thought.

Before he was mortally injured, Crowkiller was the leader of at least four attempted free folk raids to Hardhome against the faithless southron kneelers who took shelter there. He lived to fight another day after the first three of his raids were bloodily repulsed, but on the fourth, the kneelers apparently saw his warriors coming, and brought their heaviest weapons to bear. The next time Mance saw Crowkiller, what few remained of the warriors he commanded carried him on their shoulders, after his many wounds rendered him unable to even walk on his own.

"He's suffered long enough. Give him release." The wildling leader and former black brother mouthed out as he casually stepped away. He never even heard one of his warriors pulling a knife and slitting the dying man's throat.

Mance Rayder inhaled a lungful of cold air and adjusted his cloak. When the first rumours of a large group of southron soldiers marching along the eastern coast reached Mance's ears, he dismissed them without a second thought like most of a sane state of mind would. What would the kneelers down south stand to gain from sending their soldiers so far up in the frozen north? The prospect was so ridiculous, that he continued to dismiss the rumours even when they stubbornly persisted instead of slowly fading away like most boredom-fueled stories told over the campfire.

Of course, as quick as Mance to balk and roll his eyes at the rumours, he was just as quick to stand and start listening to them when the first ragged survivors of wildling clashes against this supposedly imaginary army arrived at his doorstep, desperate for help.

As Mance ordered their wounds tended to, these wide-eyed, horror-struck men and women spoke of unusually fierce and aggressive knights mounted on bloodthirsty eagle-horses, mysterious robed men with powers over fire and lightning, sorcerous contraptions capable of making the sky rain fire and burning steel, and even a pair of horrifying monstrosities clad in thick plates that belched iron spheres and propelled scalding clouds of water against their prey at extremely high speeds. Last but not least, some of them would go on to describe things such as "thunder-sticks", which were apparently hand-held weaponry fueled by magic, and made out of simple wood and iron. These fantastical devices the kneelers utilised in great numbers were apparently powerful enough to instantly kill or severely wound even the hardiest free folk warrior at a distance, after emitting a loud, thunder-like explosion.

While Mance did not fully believe in their stories at first, he did send out a few scouting bands to the supposed marching path of this magic-wielding southron army, so that he may know just how truthful these survivors had been to him, as well as to figure out where these southerners were headed. Many of these bands did not return, but a scant few did manage to relay important details... enough to convince Mance to believe everything he was told concerning the new arrivals.

The wildling leader was at a loss on what to do, once the reality of the sitiation set in. Without a leader to unite them under a single banner, the scattered free folk remained exposed and vulnerable against this new enemy. Should these sorcerous kneelers ever mount a full-scale assault one day, there was no doubt that hundreds upon thousands of wildlings would perish first before the invaders were finally forced to abandon their gains and return south, once summer ends and winter comes.

That very afternoon, Mance vowed that as long as he drew breath, he would never let such a horrid thing happen to the people he had come to love, after deserting his vows. After taking in for the night and waking up in the morning, he immediately had his warriors pack up and warn the other tribes of this new threat to the east. He endeavoured to persuade or intimidate each and every man capable of fighting to unite under his command as King-Beyond-The-Wall, in order to neutralise the southron invaders before they could pose a large enough threat.

Convincing the fiercely individualistic free folk tribes to accept him as their leader would take months, if not years of hard work, but with a common foe threatening them, Mance was sure they'll come around to his line of thinking sooner than most would expect.

Should they refuse to return to their wretched southlands, Mance Rayder's new foes would do well to pray to their heathen gods for salvation. The fury of a united free folk warhost under his orders would soon descend upon their ranks, sweeping across their pitiful warriors like a scythe across wheat, bringing untold devastation and ruin upon them... the likes of which none in this world had ever seen.

* * *

 **End of Chapter III**

* * *

 _Notes from Jora: Whoo-wee! Finally got this 17k-word crap over and done with! Happy Easter!_

 _Anyway, let me just put it out there that when I chose to cave in to demand and included Genevieve Dieudonne in the story, I changed a few crucial things that happened in the old, old, really bloody old novel she was featured in: Drachenfels by Jack Yeovil. Most importantly, I changed the retconned character of Oswald von Konigswald from the elector count of Ostland to just a famous ex-adventurer targeting Karl Franz on behalf of the Grand Enchanter Drachenfels, who is indeed canon as he was briefly featured in the End Times before getting killed off again. Most of the events detailed in the novel happened as they did, including the part where Karl Franz doesn't act like the griffon-riding, orc-killing badass he was in the newer fluff and easily gets held hostage, as well as the other, more dubious part where Genevieve gets blessed by Sigmar and is empowered by the blessing instead of being obliterated by it. I hope no one gets angry._

 _Thanks for reading! The next chapter should concern how New Praag thrives and expands despite the unfriendly weather plus unfavourable terrain, and how it promptly gets invaded and thoroughly trashed by a massive force of party-poopers under Mance Rayder. Canon characters such as Ygritte, Val, Tormund, Wun Wun, and the Night's Watch should make their debut, and not-so-canon characters such as a certain memetic, chariot-spamming Norscan should also appear. Until next time!_


	5. The Empire Endures Pt I

**YGRITTE**

It was very early in the morning in the peninsula of Storrold's Point, and the sun was high up in the sky. Unfortunately, it currently provided no warmth nor light, for a heavy snowstorm had engulfed the area and plunged it into darkness. Should a man dare to venture further up the peninsula to the "ruins" of Hardhome, he would soon find himself buffeted by unusually violent winds, and his vision quickly reduced to nothing. What's worse, it seemed as though the weather had yet to unleash the full extent of its phenomenal wrath.

"This is the work o' that fuckin' ice witch, I'd wager." Raglaf grumbled. "Aye, I knows it. She thinks she can hide from us, but she don't know about Orell an' his bird."

"Raglaf, shut yer bloody yap and leave me to my sleep!" Fjorda shouted from under her bundle of furs. "Bad enough that the weather fuckin' hates us! If it weren't for Mance's orders, I swear to the gods I'd slit your—"

"Hush, you idiots!" Ygritte hissed through clenched teeth. Her hands were already on her weirwood bow and arrow, and her eyes were focused on the obscured profile of the approaching figure ahead. "There's someone coming."

The figure, as if hearing her whispered words, held its hands up and placed them behind its head. "Oi!" It shouted, in a man's voice. "It's just me! I'm back!"

"And about bloody time, too." Ygritte put her weapons away. "How was that little stroll o' yours, Orell? Did you see something good from up there with your eagle?"

The figure put his hands back to his side and stepped into the light of Raglaf's torch, revealing Orell the skinchanger. "Aye, got me an eyeful o' what's goin' on up in Hardhome, at least for now."

"Then spill it, skinchanger." Rattleshirt emerged from his shelter. His arrival was punctuated by the clinking of the human bones sewn into his furs. "What the fuck're those tin-plated kneelers up to?"

Orell shivered. "The streets are empty right now, no doubt 'cause the lazy buggers are still asleep in those ice-and-wood castles o' theirs. The big wharf's fulla them fisher-folk, though; looked like they were haulin' several boatloads of fish onto it last I looked." He sniffed, wiping his nose. "Also, I can see plenty o' women down there, almost as much as the men. Might be that these kneelers brought their wives or daughters along."

"Hah!" Rattleshirt grinned. "Looks like there'll be a lot more fun t' be had 'sides butcherin' these southron pests once Mance tells us t' come down here and sack the place." He exhaled a sigh, "What about the pretty ice-witch, did you see her?"

Orell nodded. "Aye, I saw 'er talking t' one of them robed folks near the shore." He shared Rattleshirt's grin. "By the gods, she's fine-lookin', almost as much as—"

Snarling, Rattleshirt suddenly lunged at Orell, socking his nose and drawing blood. "Keep your fuckin' eyes to yourself, skinchanger. The witch is mine, you hear? Mine!"

Ygritte moved over to Orell and examined his bleeding nose. The man was trying to keep a straight face, despite his condition. "The witch'll be more like t' freeze your manhood solid than let it enter her, me Lord O'Bones." She said to Rattleshirt.

"I'll still fuck the witch's snowy cunt with it, girl. It don't matter t' me." Rattleshirt snorted. "Dammit, what I'd do t' be given the chance t' go up there and give those bloody kneelers a piece o' me mind."

"Many o' the tribes already tried doing jus' that, don't you remember?" Orell wiped his bloody nose and gave his leader a dirty look. "It goes without sayin' that everyone don't consider them tribes no more, the way the southerners massacred 'em."

"Aye, did ya see those big eagle-horses all dressed up in steel?" Raglaf pitched in. "I sees it with me own eyes, I did — 'round four and ten o' those white-feathered, blue-eyed beasts an' their knight riders took on Harwynd's tribe by themselves and butchered the lot of 'em. Painted the woods different shades o' red with their blood and guts... it ain't a pretty sight."

"I'd kill to find a way t' skinchange into one o' those fine beasts." Orell said. "And I'd go even further t' get inside those steel monstrosities that breath hot water and spit metal balls. It'll be fuckin' majestic, I'm tellin' ya."

Ygritte just laughed. "That'll be the day. You could barely control that bird o' yours, and you're tellin' us you're like to get skinchanged into one of _those_ bloody monsters? I've a feeling you'd turn around and try t' eat us the moment you..."

The sound of snow being crushed underfoot forced the young spearwife to shut her mouth and be quiet. Without saying a word, Rattleshirt signalled for those in his band standing up and about to take positions behind cover and watch for the approaching rider. Raglaf and four others hid behind a pile of rocks, while Orell and another seven each took their own trees to take cover behind. Rattleshirt and another two simply laid flat on their bellies on the snow, while Ygritte risked discovery by taking shelter furthest from the group, under the rotted trunk of a fallen tree. There, she had the clearest view of the intruder as he blithely walked past the free folk scouting band, oblivious to the men and women now observing his every move.

Squinting to get a better look, Ygritte got her very first look of a southron knight. Even in the distance, he seemed very heavily-built and unusually tall. She was reminded of Magnar Styrr of the Thenns further up north, but the knight seemed more powerful and much more intimidating in his dark and segmented, baroque steel plates. On his back, an engraved warhammer made with an unknown, bronze-like material was secured to his body with thick chains painted black, and by his side was the intricately-gilded scabbard of a greatsword, which had a golden cross pommel. The knight's face was obscured by a chainmail coif and a beaked greathelm, the latter of which was topped by several drooping feathers from a large bird, dyed in red, gold, and black. His last article of clothing was a simple, weather-worn cloak made out of shadowcat leather, with frayed and tattered edges.

There seemed to be a certain, melancholic aura about the armoured man, with the way his shoulders sagged and how his footfalls seemed a bit too ponderous, as Ygritte had noted. She kept her sights focused to him as he marched past, only diverting her gaze after the knight had gone out of sight, deeper into the woods.

Needless to say, after the coast was clear, Rattleshirt immediately had Orell use his eagle to determine if the man was truly alone. When the skinchanger reported that no other kneeler seemed to follow him, Rattleshirt was delighted and quickly ordered the band to pack up and stalk the solitary knight, in hopes of capturing then torturing information out of him. Indeed, it only took half an hour to re-discover the armoured man using the tracks he left behind in the snow, and it was only through Rattleshirt's insistence that the band should observe more that Ygritte hadn't feathered their quarry's legs with arrows just yet.

Reluctantly, the spearwife — as well as most of the band — stayed their weapons and continued to stealthily trail after their unwitting prey using the shadows of trees and foliage for cover.

"He doesn't really look like a southron knight, doesn't he?" Arlan of House Erenford, a deserter in his late twenties from the Night's Watch, and Ygritte's spotting partner for the moment, spoke up.

"What do you mean, crow? O' course he does!" Ygritte rolled her eyes as she repositioned from one tree to another. "Isn't this how all your knights look down south?" She gestured at the man, who was none the wiser.

"No, Ygritte. I'm telling you, he looks nothing like a ser." Arlan insisted after jumping over a log. "Knights down south tend to wear less gold in their armour, for one."

"So he must be something of a lord, then? Is that what you're tryin' t' say?"

"Could be. He looks like a Lannister from afar if you ask me, but I don't see any house colours or markings on his armour. He and his soldiers might be from Essos... probably Myrish or Qartheen slave traders."

Ygritte raised a brow at that. "Slavers? They're even worse'n kneelers, crow. Mance was right t' try uniting the tribes t' fight them — these people need to pay for what they did to thousands of unlucky free folk over the centuries."

Arlan nodded. "Exactly. Not only that, but when did you hear of southron soldiers using sorcerers in their army? Not even us crows used such things in battle, and even if we did, we could never have wielded it as well as those foreigners in Hardhome."

The spearwife mulled over what the deserter said for a bit. "Aye, so these people _aren't_ southron kneelers, but rather, eastern slavers and warlocks... is this what you're like t' tell me, Arlan? 'Cause, I don't think Mance'll care where they came from once he sets every free folk tribe against them."

"You're right, of course." Arlan shrugged. "I'm just saying that—"

A defeaning roar sounded off from the distant woods. Ygritte, knowing full well what just made the sound, instinctively scurried under the cover of a nearby snow pile, while Arlan did much the same. Looking behind her shoulder, Ygritte saw that Rattleshirt and the rest of her band had also dived down for cover.

"Urgh, shite. Not now." The spearwife drew her weirwood bow and notched an arrow. "Crow, can you take a look at our man? If he's smart, he'd have run off already."

The deserter grit his teeth and hazarded a look up from cover. When he pulled back down, he shook his head at Ygritte. "He's still there, just standing out in the open."

She gave him a blank look. "He's like t' fight off the bloody thing?"

"He hasn't drawn a weapon." He frowned. "He's just... standing there."

There was another roar — louder this time. Out of morbid curiosity, Ygritte propped herself to peek out of cover, to see how the knight dealt with the ravenous attentions of a fiercely-territorial snow bear.

Instead of running away at the sight of a massive, man-eating carnivore shovelling buckets of snow as it loped toward him, the knight actually faced the creature and shifted his stance to meet it head-on. Ygritte thought he must be seeking his death to try standing his ground without drawing either of his weapons, but she was soon proven wrong when the two adversaries met in close combat.

Once it closed the distance enough, the snow bear lunged at the knight, intending to sink its jaws into his flesh. The knight responded with his gauntleted fist, striking the creature by the muzzle before it could bite him. Ygritte was surprised to see how the bear stopped its charge and _recoiled_ at the force of the knight's punch, whimpering in pain. Not relenting, the knight advanced a single step and socked the beast's nose with an ironclad left hook, and once again, instead of shrugging it off, the enormous bear staggered back with a groaning howl, bleeding from the wounds its supposed prey inflicted.

After a recovering for a second, the bear lunged again and tried to swipe the knight with its claws, but against all expectations, he stood his ground and took the full brunt of the blow without flinching. The knight then retaliated with another heavy-handed punch to disorient the bear before charging in with a running tackle, enveloping the beast's thick and blubbery neck with both armoured arms. With a guttural and dissonant roar of exertion, the knight heaved and used his otherworldly strength to wrestle the screaming bear to the ground on its belly, with him sitting on top of it.

The entire wildling scouting band was shocked. Rattleshirt removed his skull-helm and stared at the scene, Orell and Raglaf's jaws were down, Fjorda was gazing at the knight with what seemed like an appreciative look, and Ygritte's grip on her bow threatened to break it in half.

"By the old gods and the new..." Arlan muttered, no longer making an effort to conceal himself.

The sight of the snow bear desperately trying to claw its way out of the knight's hold seemed to drive him further into a frenzy. With another, bellowing roar, the knight pulled his fist back and struck the top of the beast's skull, drawing blood. He then followed up with another, and another, and another, only stopping once the bear had finally stop thrashing from under him, its head a smashed and bloody ruin.

Without a word said, the wildlings continued to watch the knight as he stood up from the bear's corpse and exhaled a visible sigh. Not a moment too soon, he kicked some snow onto his vanquished foe's ruined husk before walking away and out of sight once more.

It was Raglaf who broke the silence. "I... I thinks we should get back t' Storrold's Point. I ain't going anywhere near this bloody kneeler, oh no."

Rattleshirt gulped down. "Aye, w-we should turn back. There's nothin' for us in these 'ere woods."

Ygritte was appalled at how Rattleshirt was cowed by a single — if certainly exceptional — knight. She put away her notched arrow and shouted, "It's seven and ten of us against just one knight, Lord O'Bones. He's like t' kill some of us, but he can't take all of us down."

"Have ye gone mad, lass?" Rattleshirt all but bellowed at her. "That damned _monster_ took on an honest-to-gods snow bear an' _killed_ it by hisself! With just his bloody fists! Not even the Thenns can do that; only fuckin' giants could!"

He looked to the rest of his band. "Now, come on! Stop gawkin' and pack up, you lot! We're headin' back t' camp!"

Much to her disappointment, each one of Ygritte's comrades seemed inclined to follow after Rattleshirt as he began to walk off. Only Arlan and Orell seemed prepared to go up against the knight.

"Fine, then! I see now that there's no man underneath those furs o' yours, Bag O'Bones! Go 'head and crawl back t' your little camp, you soft-cocked milksop!" Everyone else had gone after Rattleshirt. Only the spearwife, the skinchanger, and the deserter stood where they were.

"If you're like t' get yourself killed, girl, I don't want t' get involved!" Rattleshirt shouted back to Ygritte as he and most of his band slowly marched away. He didn't even pause to look back to her.

Fists clenched, Ygritte sucked in a breath and shouted back, "Coward! How're you supposed t' steal your pretty ice witch now, when it's all but likely that she lets _this_ knight fuck her snowy cunt! He might be a bloody kneeler, but you're even less of a man compared to him!"

Ygritte's words had an immediate effect. Rattleshirt stopped walking and turned around, with an enraged look upon his face. "Don't compare me to that king-sucking, sister-fucking blueblood wanker! When I get my hands on him, I swear I'll fuckin' gut his tin-plated arse and use his bones—"

"No, you fuckin' won't, Rattleshirt." Ygritte cut him off. "You don't have the balls."

"You keep your whore mouth shut, girl, lest I have your tongue cut, and have it served in your food." Rattleshirt threatened, pointing the tip of his castle-forged sword at Ygritte. "I won't have you mouth off t' me again, you hear? I've been letting you say what you fuckin' will as a favour t' Giantsbane, but my patience has limits."

He made a shooing motion with his gloved hand, "Now go — take the bird-fondlin' skinchanger'n your pet turncloak crow and get the fuck out o' my sight. Find our bearkiller an' tell us where his castle-forged arse went; we'll be right behind you bloody lot."

Ygritte huffed as she turned around, all too eager to part ways with the fool in the stupid bone tunic. If it weren't for Mance Rayder telling her she must work with Rattleshirt if she wanted to undermine the kneelers at Hardhome, she'd much rather shoot him full of arrows than willingly work with weak-willed cowards like him.

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Orell voiced his concerns as he followed after Ygritte. Above them, his bonded eagle soared the skies in search of their quarry. "But runnin' away... it's not what we do. You did the right thing, lassie."

Arlan grumbled inaudibly, his fingers idly fiddling with his bowstring.

Ygritte ignored both of them.

The three of them followed the tracks the knight left behind, just as before. They passed through known direwolf territory, but strangely, none of the giant canines could be seen. It was as though the man-eating packs feared the knight's approach.

After another two hours spent in silence navigating the woods, Ygritte, Arlan, and Orell caught up with the knight again, after following a lead from the skinchanger's avian familiar. The spearwife held her bow in her hands as she surreptitiously moved from one piece of cover to the next, all while keeping her eyes focused on the knight, whom had taken shelter in a small clearing a few paces ahead.

"What's he doing?" Arlan whispered.

"Kneelin', crow." Orell hissed back.

Indeed, the knight was on his knee, with his back turned against the concealed wildlings. He seemed to be either praying, or interacting with something on the snow in front of him.

"Orell, go back an' find the ol' Bag O'Bones. Tell him where we are." Ygritte ordered the warg. "Arlan, stay here an' watch me back. I'm like t' take a closer look."

Before both men could protest, Ygritte had rushed off. She positioned herself very close to where the knight was, but not close enough to be spotted should he suddenly turn to her direction. After notching an arrow on her bow, the spearwife took in a breath and studied the knight one more time.

To her surprise, Ygritte found that the knight was kneeling in front of an animal's corpse... a direwolf, to be precise. Not only that, but he also had the protective visor of his greathelm pulled up, revealing his face to her.

Unconsciously, the spearwife felt heat rush up to her cheeks as she examined his face. Despite looking as young as a man of five and twenty years, he had several scars marring his features, with the most prominent being a jagged trench that reached from beside his nose and across the corner of his mouth. His height and his strength already proved attractive to wildlings such as Ygritte, but it was his chiseled and ruggedly masculine face that would make any southron woman swoon with desire. The knight looked unusual enough already, but Ygritte could see that his greyish-blue eyes glowed faintly in the dark, giving him an otherworldly air of mysticism and arcane wisdom, much like what the woods witches often sported.

Ygritte had almost all her attention devoted to studying the armoured man; she didn't notice anything unusual when he lifted a ball of fluff from the direwolf's corpse in front of him, at least not until it started fretting and mewling.

"A direwolf pup!" Arlan's voice suddenly sounded off beside Ygritte, making her noisily jolt up in surprise.

"Arlan!" Ygritte hissed as she whipped around to the deserter, face paling. "What the fuck! What're you— why did— didn't I—"

"Hrmh?" The knight slowly put down the infant direwolf in his gauntleted hands. "Wer geht dahin? Zeige dich!"

Ygritte and Arlan instantly froze on their tracks. The knight's booming voice was low and very deep, and the tongue he spoke sounded as though archdemons from the depths of the underworld created it for their mortal followers to use.

"Nimm mich nicht zum Narren!" The armoured man didn't bother pulling down his visor as he stood up and unsheathed his greatsword. "Gesicht mich, wen Sie es wagen!"

Arlan slowly put away his bow and arrow. "Don't... move... a muscle."

"This is all YOUR fault!" She mouthed through closed teeth.

As if fate seemed to conspire in their untimely deaths, the knight seemed to hear Ygritte and Arlan speaking. With a huff, he quickly turned and trudged off to where he heard their voices from.

"Hush, don't try to speak. He's coming to us." Beads of sweat started forming on Arlan's forehead.

"I can see that, you bloody oaf!" Ygritte's temper flared. "If you just STAYED where I told you to stay, this wouldn't've happened!"

"FEIGLINGE!" The knight's voice bellowed. "Ich kann Dich hören! VERSTECKEN WIRD DICH NICHT RETTEN!"

Arlan reached out and grasped Ygritte's shoulders. There's a glint in his eyes that the spearwife couldn't help but notice. "I have a plan, but I need you to trust me, Ygritte. Ready?"

The spearwife tried to object. "What're you doing, crow! If we don't find somewhere t' hide right now, he's going t' find us ou—!"

The deserter enveloped her lips with his own. He kissed her deeply as his arms pulled her close. Ygritte was too surprised to react at first, but when the knight finally marched into sight close by, greatsword held high and eyes glowing in bloodlust, the spearwife eagerly returned Arlan's kiss. As the foe's thudding footfalls drew near, Ygritte closed her eyes and hoped for the best.

"Was?" The knight's voice sounded very, very close. "...ah."

Ygritte snapped her eyes open to see the knight lowering his blade to point at the ground. He was standing right next to her and Arlan now, and Ygritte couldn't help but feel awed at how he towered over them, utterly dwarfing them both in his tremendous size and his great height.

After another second, the spearwife pushed the deserter away. As Arlan reeled back, she looked up to the knight and summoned the courage to speak, "Why did you come here?"

"Entschuldigung..." The knight did not seem to understand Common. He tilted his greathelmed head to the side, "...Ich kenne deine Sprache nicht."

Up close, his regal and imposing appearance as well as his distinctive, severe tone-of-voice lent an aura of imperiousness and authority upon the knight, even as he acted like a clueless fool.

"Sprichst Du Reikspiel? Qu'en est-il du Bretonnien ? Kak naschet Kislevarin?" He leaned in, his eyes narrowing in palpable contempt for the next words he was about to say. "Kanske Norrsken?"

"You don't speak Common..." It was Arlan who spoke now. His cheeks were still red. "Just where in the world did you come from, ser?"

"Komm mit mir," At this point, the knight seemed close to sheathing his greatsword back in its scabbard. His voice sounded downright demonic whenever he angrily bellowed his native tongue, but Ygritte just had to take note of how peculiar and exotic he came off when talking calmly. "Ihr beide. Ich muss es herausfinden—"

"DEATH T'ALL YE FUCKIN' KNEELERS!"

All three of them turned to behold the source of the shouting voice. On instinct, Ygritte shifted to a primal stance at the sight of several shadowy profiles bearing down on them in the distance. Before long, a free folk warhorn sounded, revealing the figures to be Rattleshirt and his scouting band.

"You think we could convince the Lord of Bones to take him in peacefully?" Arlan had asked of Ygritte. "I was probably wrong when I figured the knight for an Essosi slaver. Perhaps we don't need to interrogate him — he might be willing to tell us what we want to know if we just asked him after teaching him some Common."

"Don't be stupid, crow." Ygritte, while regretting that harm must come to the knight after he spared their lives, felt that it was necessary that foreigners like the knight must be taught a lesson for everything they've done against many wildling tribes. "Wait for him t' defend himself against Rattleshirt and his kin, then feather his legs with arrows once his back's turned."

"Steh hinter mir, ihr zwei!" The knight exclaimed something in his tongue as he put himself between both Ygritte and Arlan against Rattleshirt's incoming host of free folk warriors. With the way he held his sword, he seemed genuinely prepared to defend them with his life... little did he know that he was only allowing two more of his foes access to his back.

With some reluctance, the spearwife grabbed the deserter by the arm and pulled him away. "Let's put some distance between ourselves and the enemy. I don't like that we have t' do this, Arlan, but we also shouldn't forget that it's us against them — be they slavers, kneelers, or no."

"I... yes. Of course." With a heavy heart, Arlan fell in line.

* * *

 **KARL FRANZ**

Emperor Franz stared down the rapidly advancing horde of barbarians; his gauntleted grip on the hilt of his Runefang zweihander was ironclad. He briefly looked around and saw that the local couple he previously encountered had disappeared from view, which came as a relief to Franz — he wouldn't want them to get caught up in the bloodbath he was about to bring about.

"I am the judgement of heretics!" Franz adopted a zweihander swordfighting stance while his barbaric foes quickly drew near. The emperor's cloak billowed behind him in the wind, and his blade began to hum as the magical runes and wards engraved into it started to take effect.

"A pox upon those who blaspheme and corrupt!" The voices in his head began to beseech him to fight in the name of the Lady once more, but he had learned to stop ignoring them, and instead find inspiration in their words.

"I am the Defier of the Dark," When the first of his foes charged in screaming with an axe in each hand, Franz clasped the middle of his blade and lunged at his foe with it much like a state trooper would a spear.

"—THE _BANE_ OF HELDENHAMMER'S FOES!" He shouted as his zweihander found purchase within the savage's stomach, running him through in gruesome fashion.

"I AM THE FURY OF AN EMPIRE!" While it was still sheathed in his opponent's flesh, the emperor pulled his blade upward and parted the unfortunate savage from the belly to the tip of the head. Another of the savages tried to approach him from behind with a castle-forged morningstar, but Franz saw him coming and swung the Runefang as he pivoted around, decapitating the flanking savage with a single decisive stroke. "AN AVATAR OF VENGEANCE!"

Blood splattered everywhere and turned the snow red. Before his previous opponent's headless corpse could even hit the ground, yet another pair of savages approached Franz. The first one heaved up and brought down his poleaxe to bury it deep into the emperor's shoulder, but he easily parried the blow mid-strike and used the Runefang's jagged, teeth-like edge to trap the savage's weapon before yanking it away from his grasp.

The disarmed barbarian took several steps back, eyes widened in fear. Karl Franz strode forth and caved her face inwards with a devastating, ironclad punch. The second barbarian shifted to the side to strike at the emperor's right flank, but Franz put an end to his predictable manoeuvre by reaching out and seizing the savage's throat as he tried to run past the emperor's guard. Scowling, Franz lifted his opponent up in the air before smashing him back down into the ground.

" **FACE ME,** " Franz plunged his zweihander down and impaled the downed savage's head. He raised his gauntleted hand and clenched it into a fist as a challenge to his terrified foes. _" ** _IF_ YOU DARE!**_ "

The rest of the savages hesitated, which gave Franz the time he needed to take the initiative. Bellowing a fearsome war-cry so blood-curdling that it made some of the barbarians quake in their boots, Karl Franz charged headlong into battle, bloodied Runefang raised high, mouth twisted into a feral snarl, and eyes glowing fiercely in zealous wrath.

With a single swing, Emperor Franz cleaved a horrified savage in two from the waist, spilling gallons of her blood and scattering her warm entrails all over the snow. Relentless, the emperor heaved his zweihander up in the air before bringing it down, slashing another of his adversaries in half from head to groin, such was his strength. Seizing another of his foes by the face, Franz reared back and smashed the savage's head into a tree, pulping his skull and instantly killing him.

A barbarian marched on the emperor with a spear while another came at him from behind with a castle-forged sword. Franz backhanded the swordsman across the face and twisted to the side to evade the spearman's thrust. Before the spear-wielder could retract his weapon, Franz seized his polearm's wooden shaft before giving it a sudden and forceful tug in time with his own sword-thrust, causing the hapless barbarian to stumble forth and impale himself into the emperor's blade.

Karl Franz retracted the Runefang from the spearman's dying body. With one more foe dispatched, the emperor refocused his attention on the sword-wielder, whom had recovered enough to put up his sword. The savage ignored the severe bleeding from the side of his face as he lunged at Franz with an overhead swing, which the emperor easily parried. While their blades were still locked to each other, Franz viciously forced the Runefang forward, which caused the savage to accidentally hit himself with the flat of his blade, knocking him on his back.

The emperor raised his sword and prepared to execute his adversary, when a hail of stone arrows struck his armour. Most of the projectiles just bounced off thanks to the resilience of runed gromril plates combined with the Silver Seal's magic, but some managed to get through the gaps. Growling, Franz turned to look where the arrows came from and was shocked to see the couple he just spared earlier notching the arrows they've planted on the snow and loosing them against him.

He was betrayed. For a second, all anger had left Franz, leaving him open to a greataxe to the back.

"Urgh!" The emperor staggered back. The familiar sense of pain lanced across his upper shoulders and trickled down his back, filling him with renewed alertness. Whipping back around to defend himself, Franz raised his greatsword just in time to parry another swing from an unshaven savage. His adversary foamed at the mouth as he continued to hurl one frenzied blow after another, but he never again managed to land a good hit. Franz waited for the barbarian to raise his weapon again before surging forth with the Runefang, severing his opponent's right arm completely. The emperor's next swing sliced through the man's neck, separating his head from his shoulders.

Within moments, the fury that propelled him to destroy his uncivilised foes returned to empower Emperor Franz, now augmented by a desire to make the traitorous red-haired lass and her black-clad paramour pay for making a fool out of him. Seeing that the battle was getting out of hand, all of the remaining savages banded together and encircled Franz.

The emperor welcomed the challenge, however. He shifted to a more defensive swordfighting stance as each one of his foes charged him at the same time. After waiting for the most opportune moment to attack, Franz reared back his blade before heaving it in a wide arc, bisecting two of his foes in one stroke and isolating a third from her comrades. Swifter than his foes could react, the emperor surged forth and had the Runefang bite deep into his lone opponent's shoulder, forcing her on her knees and leaving her defenceless when Franz retracted his blade and forced the length of it down her gullet.

Two of the three remaining savages swung their axes at the same time, forcing the emperor to parry both heavy-handed blows. Gritting his teeth, Franz kicked snow into the face of the savage in front of him, leaving her open to a pommel strike to the abdomen. His attack knocked the wind out of the savage's lungs and made her bend forward at the waist, helpless to stop Franz from thrusting up and running his zweihander through her throat. The emperor then pivoted around and ducked under his next foe's axe-swing before using the momentum he gathered to sweep the man's legs from under him with the Runefang, severing both limbs.

With all of his immediate foes lying dead or dying except for one, Franz threateningly hefted the Reikland Runefang in his hands as he bore down on the remaining savage, whom had chosen to wear furs with bleached bones sewn into them. His skull-helm obscured whatever facial expression the barbarian sported, but the way his body trembled at the emperor's approach was more than enough to indicate his mounting fear.

"Come!" Emperor Franz issued his challenge. "Let us end this, northman dog!"

The bone-wearing savage promptly dropped his sword and tried to scurry away.

* * *

 **YGRITTE**

In the space of two minutes, the spearwife watched the knight completely demolish Rattleshirt's host, leaving nought but blood and mutilated bodies in his wake. As though empowered by his dark gods, the armoured man butchered many seasoned free folk raiders by himself without much effort. Ygritte and Arlan rained arrows down on the knight every time his attention was occupied by someone else, but all their efforts served only to annoy him, his black plate armour shielding him from serious harm every time.

"By the Seven!" Arlan shouted. Ygritte looked up from notching an arrow for the umpteenth time and turned to where the deserter pointed at.

The spearwife was just in time to witness a doubled-over Fjorda suffer a greatsword through the throat, courtesy of the rampaging knight. She could see Orell advancing menacingly on the foe with his axe raised high, but the foreigner anticipated his approach and swiftly crouched under the skinchanger's overhead attack. Orell could only scream as the knight swung his wicked blade at his legs and severed them both in one strike, ensuring a most painful and excruciatingly slow death for the skinchanger.

"It's up t' us an' Rattleshirt now!" Ygritte declared, upon seeing the Lord of Bones to be the only one left standing to confront the knight directly. "Quickly, empty that quiver o' yours, Arlan! We'll soon have t' use our—"

Ygritte dropped her sentence at the sound of Rattleshirt's looted crow steel sword hitting the rocks underneath the snow on the ground. The Lord of Bones turned tail and tried to bolt off, but the knight moved deceptively quick on his armoured feet. Rattleshirt barely made ten paces before the knight closed enough behind to grasp his bone-lined fur cloak, stopping him dead on his tracks.

The deserter loosed yet another stone arrow, and once again, it only bounced off when it made contact with the knight's lionhead-shaped shoulderplate. He reached behind his back to his quiver for one more arrow, but his hand came back with nothing.

"That's it!" Arlan put away his bow and drew his longsword. "I'm all out!"

The spearwife grimaced at the news and waited until the knight had thrown the free folk leader to the ground, giving her a clear arrow-path to target without the risk of accidentally hitting Rattleshirt. Since it was her last arrow as well, Ygritte steadied her hand and took very careful aim for her final shot. She could see that the knight still hadn't pulled down his visor and his face was exposed. Praying to her nameless gods for success, the spearwife angled her bow and let the arrow loose.

The knight looked up from Rattleshirt and snarled. With a grunt, he pulled back his arm and swatted Ygritte's arrow in mid-flight with a backhand, much to the spearwife's shock.

"Verräterische SCHWEINE!" The foreigner exclaimed.

He clamped his bloody sabaton down on Rattleshirt's back, making him scream in pain. Ygritte and Arlan could only watch as the knight reached down, flung aside Rattleshirt's cloak, and impaled the wildling's back with his metal fingers. What followed next was something out of a surreal fever dream — the knight heaved and ripped out the Lord of Bones' own spine with the skull attached in a horrifying, gut-churning manner, splattering his vanquished adversary's lifeblood everywhere around him.

Ygritte felt bile rising from her throat. She was very close to losing the contents of her stomach, and Arlan looked just as revolted and disturbed.

"Someone should go back to Mance and tell him and the others..." Arlan managed to word out. He turned to Ygritte, ashen-faced. "Go. I'll try to keep him occupied for as long as I can."

The spearwife was appalled he even suggested such a thing. "No, crow. We can take him together." She brought out her own axe — the same one she used for chopping wood for her arrows. "He's wounded, unbalanced... tired. If we're careful, we can—"

"Du wirst für deinen Verrat bezahlen!" The knight cast aside his grisly trophy from Rattleshirt and began to advance on his remaining foes, bloody murder in mind.

"Ygritte," Arlan held up a hand. His voice was firm and resigned. "You know as well as I do what will happen if we both stay and fight. Mance needs to be warned... at least then our band would not have died for nought."

He put his hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle push. "Now go. Run. I don't think I'll last long against this knight. Make sure to—"

Ygritte stepped up and kissed Arlan again. It was quicker than the last, but it held much more passion. When they parted for the final time, the spearwife did not say another word and immediately ran from the area, leaving the deserter to his fate.

"I'll see you in the next life!" She heard him shout as she hurried further and further away.

The deserter said he was not to last to last very long facing the knight, and indeed, it was scarcely fifteen seconds before she heard his distant scream. It only inspired Ygritte to run faster.

The spearwife continued to flee for several minutes, not even stopping for breath. She could not hear the knight's thudding footfalls coming for her, nor could she see him whenever she turned behind her shoulder to look. The woods began to get thinner and thinner as delved deeper into the white forest, and it was only until she reached a quiet, frozen pond did Ygritte stop to reorient herself.

That was it. Rattleshirt, Orell, Fjorda, Raglaf and Arlan were dead. The knight had killed everyone except for Ygritte, and it was up to her to warn Mance of their fates. If the foreigners had more warriors of the same calibre as the knight in black steel plates, surely an inordinate amount of free folk lives would be lost should Mance commit to an assault on Hardhome.

"Haah..." Ygritte sighed, letting her heavy woodcutter's axe slip from her grasp and drop to the snow.

It was most definitely going to be a long and lonely road back to where Mance Rayder had his men set up camp, and once there, the spearwife must then use her knowledge of tracking to figure out which tribe Mance's host had gone off to negotiate with.

"Just me rotten luck..." Ygritte picked up her axe and made to move out again. Arlan or some other person should be in her place, she thought. It was her mistake to goad Rattleshirt into having his band attack the knight; she should've been the one to pay for it.

Suddenly, a loud screech erupted in the air, jolting Ygritte into full awareness. The noise did not sound as though it belonged to any species of bird Ygritte had known to inhabit the white forest. It was certainly much louder and more guttural than any other avian call she had ever heard.

Not wanting to stay in the area overlong, Ygritte began to walk. She was halfway back into the cover of the woods when a massive shadow suddenly loomed past her. Surprised, the spearwife looked up and surveyed the skies, her grip on her axe tightening. She spent so much time anxiously searching for airborne threats that she failed to take note of the thudding sounds fast approaching from behind her. By the time she whirled around to look, it was already too late.

A horrifying creature the size of a large mammoth lunged and closed the remaining distance between itself and the spearwife. Ygritte was too shocked to react when it snatched her up from the ground and restrained her within massive, eagle-like claws. The spearwife immediately tried to find a way to free herself but her efforts were stopped dead when the beast inclined its head and roared at her face, coating her in spittle.

Up close while inside its clutches, Ygritte could see the source of her imminent demise in its full, majestic glory. It was an animal that skinchangers everywhere would murder their children and sell their souls to the Others if such an act meant a bond was formed with it. The front half of the creature featured an eagle's head, wings and rending claws, while its hindquarters resembled an unknown, striped beast with paws and a tail. To signify that it was no mere wild beast, the creature was also clad in several metal plates of red, black, and gold, and on its back was a saddle chased with silver and gold.

Before she knew it, Ygritte's non-human captor reared back, galloped forth, and elegantly took to the skies. Frozen by the chilly winds and completely terrified out of her wits, the spearwife remained unmoving from the clutches of the beast as it soared above the treeline, likely to its eyrie to feed its captive wildling to its young.

During her journey through the skies, Ygritte felt herself lose consciousness once or twice. She hoped she would wake to see herself back at camp with everyone else whom had been killed, but her hopes where dashed almost immediately upon smelling the rancid odour wafting from the beast taking her prisoner. Not resigned to her fate just yet, Ygritte kept her eyes open and looked for a way to break free. Even if she ended up just falling to her death, she preferred as such if it meant she was spared being torn apart by the beast's young.

"Come on, you damned monster!" Ygritte squirmed and tried to reach for the hunting knife attached to her boot. "What's the matter? 'Fraid I'll give ya the bloody runs — or d'you think I need more meat on me bones? Go on, then! Have a taste!"

The thing spared her an indignant look and turned away, ignoring the spearwife. Eventually, after much reaching about, Ygritte took hold of her blade and hid it from sight underneath her furs. Marshalling all her courage, the spearwife took a deep breath and looked up to the beast for a second time.

"Come over here! I promise I won't bite! Don't you want t' take a look o' the—"

A distinctive whistle was heard from below the treeline, making the creature shriek in a long, shrilly note, as if from joy. Ygritte found herself sick to her stomach again when the monster swiftly plunged down from the air. It landed on the open ground with a great thud, conjuring up a strong gust of wind in all directions and making the earth shake ever so slightly.

"Todesklaue," The spearwife heard a man's deep voice call out. She unclenched her jaw and opened her eyes, only to see the knight yet again, standing patiently by himself. "Du bist hier. Gut."

The beast squawked. Before she knew it, Ygritte's monstrous captor had thrown her to the snow, right next to the knight's armoured feet. Acting out of adrenaline-fuelled desperation, the spearwife surged up with her blade in hand, trying to slash at the knight's still-exposed face. He grimaced and took hold of her arm before she could strike him.

Ygritte squealed in pain as she involuntarily let go of her knife. The knight's grip was firm and crushing; she was sure he only had to tug to pull her limb out of its socket and pull to tear it out completely like he did with Rattleshirt's spine and skull.

Instead of that, the knight threw her into the ground, still whining in her pain. She looked up to see him raising his greatsword to deliver a final blow to the last member of Rattleshirt's scouts. Ygritte continued to stare up at him, welcoming her end with open arms.

The knight also looked back down to her, examining the spearwife's face for any emotion. After a long while, his scowl slowly faded, replaced with a disdainful frown.

"Nur ein kleines Mädchen..." Unexpectedly, the knight lowered his sword, until it was pointing at the ground. "Harh... warum musstest du mich verraten? Hrmh.." He continued to grumble angrily as he reached down and took Ygritte by the shoulder.

The spearwife braced herself for more pain, but the knight's grip was much less oppressive; he only pulled her up back to her feet and walked her to his monster. "Vergewissern Sie sich, dass sie nicht weg läuft." He said something to the beast in a commanding tone, to which he received a trill of affirmative in response.

Ygritte watched the knight run off to the opposite direction. She turned around and came upon the sight of the great beast leaning down to her, studying her with its beady, jet black eyes.

"What're you lookin' at?"

The beast tilted its head to the side. It reached out with its claw and pointed a talon to Ygritte.

"Zeit zu gehen, Freund." The spearwife turned back around to see the knight walking back. His sword was now in its sheath, and he was carrying what appeared to be four direwolf pups in his armoured arms.

"And what're you—"

The knight cut Ygritte off with a pointed look. "Ruhe. Sie schlafen."

As if what he just said was some sort of command, the beast behind Ygritte enveloped her within its claws yet again. The knight then mounted the beast and placed the pups he was carrying inside a saddle bag.

"Here we go again..." With a scowl, Ygritte closed her eyes and held on to her lunch.

* * *

 **End of Chapter IV-1**

* * *

 _Notes: For technical and personal (my studies are starting to catch up to me) reasons, I had Chapter 4 cut into two sections. Part 2 of this chapter should be much, much lengthier, featuring everything I mentioned the previous chapter. As of 29/04, I've written down 3k words. Until next time._


	6. The Empire Endures Pt II

**KARL FRANZ**

The aerial journey back to New Praag lasted less than six minutes, thanks to Deathclaw's speed. The great griffon made landfall just outside Graf Todbringer's own ice-and-wood-cabin as ordered, whereupon he unclenched his claws and released his red-haired captive. The furs-clad, northborn girl tried to make a run for it as soon as her legs were free, but she quickly found all her escape routes blocked by fast-approaching state troops and knights from Middenland.

"Where'd you think you're going, lassie!" A soldier laughed as he held his halberd down on the girl, keeping her at bay.

"Don't you want to stay over for lunch, kleine Mädchen? We've got salmon and grilled leeks!" A knight joined in, holding his greatsword to rest over his armoured shoulder. To his side, a small Dachshund barked over and over at the red-haired stranger in their midst.

"That's enough, men." Karl Franz dismounted from Deathclaw. "Where is your elector count?"

"Aye! I'm here!" The elector count of Middenland himself kicked open the wooden door to his cabin, exposing himself to the outside cold. His muscular, sinewy body was unclothed above the waist, and his skin glistened with wetness. "Nothing like a fucking cold bath in the middle of an especially cold morning!"

It was then that Graf Todbringer took notice of the new arrival. "Hah! Looks like we got ourselves a guest!"

"Yes, but she's not yours to entertain." Franz crossed his gromril-plated arms as Deathclaw took to the skies and began his watch once more. "That will be a chore for von Mannstedt and her brother. I do, however, have come across a litter of direwolf pups while out in the wilds. They look like the ones you see in Middenland and Nordland, no?"

Todbringer casually stepped out into the cold and inspected the sleeping pups in question as the emperor brought them out. "Hmh, yes, those're direwolves, alright. Some of my White Wolf knights brought their own direwolf bitches to Ostland before the lot of us got plucked out of the Old World. They could probably rear these four whelps into proper wolfhood in a few months, ready to tear throats open in service to Middenland and the Empire."

"That is what I came here for." Franz nodded and handed over the pups from his keeping to Todbringer's. The emperor's trunk-like arms were accomodating enough to comfortably hold all four of the pups, but Todbringer had to call for one of his soldiers to carry a pair.

The emperor turned around and began to walk off. "Take good care of them, Todbringer. We do not know how direwolves in this world behave compared to the ones in the Old World; should they begin to become a danger to the men, I want these animals put down immediately." He stopped walking, turned to his side, and looked back to the elector count. "Am I understood, graf?"

"Of course, your majesty." Todbringer clicked his heels together and performed the Imperial salute as good as he could make it without use of his arms, for fear of dropping the pups he was holding.

Franz let out a small huff, satisfied. "Come on, you." He reached for the fiery-haired barbarian's shoulder and dragged her with him. "We'll get answers out of you soon enough... once you learn proper Reikspiel."

During the long walk to the dungeons Tzarina Katarina had conjured up and the soldiers had reinforced with wooden fortifications, Franz's captive stared at her surroundings with wide, disbelieving eyes. Where once were ruined buildings were now majestic ice-and-wood structures and habitations, standing tall and proud. Patrols of state troops roamed all around, laughing and chatting with one another in rapid-fire Reikspiel as they did. The Ice Queen of Kislev herself could be seen by her usual spot at the busy centre of the settlement, instructing a trio of Imperial wizards on how to draw on the powers of the land instead of the weakened Winds of Magic. The Royal Altdorf Gryphites trained cavalry charges with a battered unit of shield-bearing Ostlander swordsmen, and a formation of handgunners practiced firing drills and improvised hand-to-hand combat on a row of unfortunate ice dummies. By the fishing wharf, the soldiers-turned-fishermen hauled in their morning catch, which consisted mostly of eels, brown trout, and mackarels.

The emperor frowned at that. He was hoping for salmon to go with the wild mushrooms the huntsmen brought in a week earlier.

"Emperor Franz!" A high-pitched voice called out.

The emperor found himself accosted by the familiar sight of "Cousin" Okri Okrundsson and a few of his rangers. He looked the same, but his fieldcraft outfit looked thicker, and was now trimmed with various furs around the collar and the sleeves. It looked as though the dwarfs had just returned from a ranging.

"What word do you bring, dwarf?" Franz asked expectantly, turning to his side. The girl he was holding captive said nothing and continued to stare at the approaching dwarfs, no doubt caught off-guard by their unusual appearance.

"We just returned from the south, after heading to our original course west!" Okrundsson brought out a small piece of parchment from his belt and showed it to Franz. "Here, a little west of our town, we came across a river filled with salmon and trout. Good place to establish a fishing hamlet! From this angle, it looks like an antler, no?"

"Hm-hmh." Franz nodded, but said nothing. He contemplated crouching down to get a better look on the map, but he decided against it.

The ranger continued, "Anyway, much further west, there's an old stone ringwall surrounding a hill, which resembled a fist turned to the sky. There's old weapons and umgi skeletons all 'round the area; looked like a place where people made last stands and became stories for bards."

"I see." Franz nodded again. "A most unusual landmark, but still of little interest or worth to us."

Okrundsson grinned. "Aye, I'd say that too, emperor, if it weren't for all the iron ore veins the lads and I have discovered all 'round the mountains surrounding the area. If we could have her glacial majesty bring up some ice-cabins and other such structures there, as well as some builders to start a mine, we could have a steady supply of iron for the smiths to fashion for our warriors. Your gold wizards shouldn't be too tired then."

Franz saw much wisdom in the dwarf's words. Indeed, every gold wizard in his army besides the comatose Supreme Patriarch Gelt had been working day and night to conjure up sufficient raw steel for the smiths to fashion into new weapons and armour for every soldier who needed it, and as the months went by, more and more state troopers came up with requests for armament repairs or outright replacements. It wouldn't have been so taxing for the wizards if it weren't for the weakly-blowing Winds of Magic.

"Send word to the tzarina on my behalf," Franz ordered. "Ask for her permission — tell her I have plans to establish a mining operation to the mountainous west, and I'll have brief need of her sorceries to give our future miners a head-start."

"We're on it, emperor!" Okrundsson and his comrades turned to walk the other direction.

"A moment, ranger." Franz stopped them with a hand held up. In response to Okrundsson's raised eyebrow, he bowed and spoke, "You have my thanks for all the work you dwarfs have done for the Empire thus far. You've certainly proven yourselves to be of much use to our cause... more than what I've come to expect after accepting your offer to become part of my men. I appreciate that."

"I am a citizen of the Empire!" The dwarf proudly declared. "We all are, and it's only fair we do what we can for our leader! Your nation took us in when we lost faith in ours. We feel that the Karaz Ankor should stop being so caught up in past glories — Thorgrim Grudgebearer's dwarfs should be looking north to face the _real_ threats, not holding onto what little scraps remain of their realm! Once Chaos is defeated and the kingdoms of all dawi unite, that pox-faced urk Ironhide shouldn't be giving us too much trouble!"

While Franz agreed that the dwarfs of the Karaz Ankor rein in their more grudge-bearing ways and traditionalist views, he didn't take the threat of Grimgor Ironhide's WAAAGH! as lightly as Okrundsson; the greenskins had the potential to sow just as much destruction and misery as Chaos if left to their own devices, if not more.

He didn't let the dwarfs know of his thoughts, though. "Indeed, dwarf. Indeed."

It took no more than a few minutes for Franz to reach his destination after parting ways with the rangers. Down in the dungeons, he was greeted by the sight of witch hunters von Mannstedt and Richter in the middle of a card game, Sir Todwunsch the raven knight standing still as he guarded the Norscans in the cells behind him, and Genevieve the rogue Lahmian, masquerading as a Reiklander sergeant. The latter unsurprisingly seemed to be expecting the emperor's visit, acknowledging him with a smile and a nod.

Besides the independent vampire, Richter was the first to notice Franz. "Sister," He set down the cards in his hands and began to stand up. "—we've got company."

Von Mannstedt yawned and set her own cards down. She stood up slowly and her posture was drooping, but she immediately stood up straight the moment she saw Franz in bloodstained gromril plates.

"Greetings, witch hunters." The emperor began. "I certainly hope I'm not interrupting something."

"Emperor Franz..." The witch huntress looked on with concern. At that moment, she didn't seem to notice Franz's captive beside him. "Is that... is that _your_ blood?"

"I am not injured," The emperor shook his head. "And neither is my "friend" here, at least physically." He tugged at the girl's shoulder, who flinched, but remained silent.

Von Mannstedt then looked to the girl in question, then back to Franz. "So I see, your imperial majesty. You want us to get everything she knows out of her? It will be done, I assure—"

"You will not be torturing this one until she starts to misbehave severely, templar." Franz cut her off sternly. "She is not a Norscan who willingly sold her soul to the dark powers just to slake her own lust for power, she is merely a child taken in by mundane raiders as their own, whom had made the mistake of setting their sights to _me_."

The emperor raised a metal finger to the pair of templars. "This one is to be treated fairly under the laws of the Empire — as an underaged criminal, _not_ a Chaos-worshipping prisoner of war like these heretics," Franz gestured at the occupied ice-cells all around him, to which he received no response from the Norcans occupying them.

Before any of the witch hunters could respond, Franz continued, "I am tasking you and your retinue, von Mannstedt, to learn as much as you can from this girl without resorting to torture. Intimidate her should you wish to, but criminals such as her are not to be harmed until they are judged. In return, you will teach her Reikspiel, and tell her all she wants to know about us. I believe it is time we start talking to the inhabitants of this land, rather than shooting them on sight."

"This is... quite the unorthodox order you ask of us witch hunters," Von Mannstedt bit her lip before easing herself back to attention. "But you can count on Wolfhard and I, my lord."

"I am most grateful." Franz was satisfied. He knew all too well that von Mannstedt was extremely loyal and obedient to him — she always followed his orders to the letter, not unlike Schwarzhelm. In fact, even Knight-Captain de Brie sometimes implemented her own solutions to problems the emperor wanted solved in a specific way. "I will visit often to observe your progress. Do not disappoint me."

Franz departed from the dungeons alone. The cold northern air greeted him outside, and he was invigorated by it. The way it stung his exposed face and chilled his armour around his body distracted him from the persistent voices plaguing his mind. He had learned to become used to them to an extent, but the allure was still very much there.

The emperor sighed, his breath steaming. He made to his own cabin to begin his daily Sigmarite meditations, when a familiar presence materialised from behind him and began to match his steps.

"Karl Franz," The presence uttered. "You've been out in one of your walks in solitude again, haven't you?" Her lilting voice was only a little irritated, but obviously quite disapproving. "That blood... is it—"

"No, the blood is not mine." He curtly interrupted her. "You know as well as I do why I take these walks early in the morning, waystalker — I grow restless; I cannot find peace while wasting away here, doing nothing but drill my men and gather supplies for the entirety of the day."

He then turned and gave her a grumpy look. "We've had this tedious talk half a dozen times before."

Aureleth grimaced, her expression hidden under her veil. "And you're foolishly putting yourself in unecessary risk each time just for the sake of relieving yourself of boredom, human. If you won't let your Reiksguard walk with you, at least allow me to accompany you again, so whatever dangers you might face out there won't danger you overmuch."

Franz briefly thought on it. While he refused Reiksguard's company whenever he was in the mood for a stroll in the woods because he feared the presence of several knights in gleaming plate armour would attract the attentions of more than just the few barbarians he had the misfortune of encountering earlier, the emperor's qualms about letting the waystalker accompany him differ, in that her appearance all but reminded him of that dreadful she-witch Lileath.

"I'll decide on it later, Aureleth." He said, looking to her. "For now, I must meditate and banish these voices in my head... again. Should you have need of me, I'll be in my cabin."

"Wait," Aureleth rounded on Franz and placed herself in his path before he could walk further. "If you truly wish to be rid of those "voices" in your head, why would you go anywhere else? Look," She gestured to the side, pointing at a cliff overlooking the roiling seas. "No other place can serve your purpose better than this one."

Franz narrowed his eyes and observed the area. Indeed, it provided a great view of the oceans below, and the salt-sea air constantly blowing into the cliff from the frozen sea appealed to him. "This isn't some nefarious ploy to push me to my death while I'm distracted, is it not?"

"Oh, _that_ will silence the voices for certain." The waystalker easily snarked back, leaning forward with her gloved hands on her hips. "Honestly, human, what do you take me for, a second-rate cutthroat? I am a waystalker — if I wanted to assassinate you, I'd be much more creative than that."

"Hmph." Franz smirked. "You speak as though you are indeed capable of killing me, elf. Your arrogance will prove to be your undoing, I suspect."

The waystalker huffed a derisive breath of a laugh. "I am not arrogant; I know for a fact that I can defeat you if I so wished, Karl Franz. Your abilities as a newly-minted Grail Knight could only carry you so far against a veteran waystalker as seasoned as myself." She radiated confidence, almost enough to convince the emperor she was right.

Franz thought about how a serious fight against Aureleth would go, when the thudding footfalls of a dozen armoured knights drew near. Both the emperor and the waystalker turned to see the most of the remaining Reiksguard approaching, headed by Knight-Captain de Brie.

"My lord!" The knight-captain lifted her visor, revealing a pair of shadowed eyes. "Master Okrundsson said you'd be here — we've been looking _everywhere_ around the settlement for you! We feared you went outside the walls without an escort again!"

"I did," Franz gestured at his blood-splattered armour. "Your concern for my well-being is appreciated, but I am more than capable of defending myself from threats, lady knight. I will ask for the Reiksguard's company when I deem it fit to do so."

De Brie was less than pleased. "But you can't stay safe out there every time you head out, emperor! Monstrous bears and packs of large wolves have been spotted—"

"Mere animals pose no danger to me." Franz said, irritated. "I am growing tired of my own men fussing over me; thinking me incapable of watching over my own person. I am the elected _ruler_ of the Empire, for Sigmar's sake — by my own, I've vanquished warbosses, Chaos lords, and monstrous beasts such as wyverns and manticores. I am not a man to be coddled and cosseted like an ill-born Bretonnian whelp!"

The emperor scowled at his knights, glaring daggers at them. "For the last time, leave me to my damned walks! I will not speak of this again to you, or to anyone else! Begone!"

The Reiksguard captain flinched. Franz was not coming around to her thinking. "As you wish..." She meekly worded out. "But please, for the love of all the gods, I implore you — think about our offer, your imperial majesty... call on us, and the knights of the Reiksguard shall not be found wanting."

The emperor and the waystalker watched the knights depart. After they had gone out of sight, Aureleth tilted her hooded head to Franz.

"The short-lifer is right, you know." She said to him. "Is it not the entire purpose of their order to protect you with their lives? You're denying them their sworn duty, as you are mine. I can see why that knight-captain of yours seemed so distraught."

"I know, elf." The emperor sighed, frowning bitterly. "I... wasn't acting as I should. Outbursts are for children, not for emperors..."

Aureleth had one caustic remark at the ready, but decided against using it for the time being. "Could you not find other means to stave off your boredom? To find peace, however momentary?"

Franz slowly shook his head. "Besides meditating, no." He adopted a contemplative look. "This... might sound... odd to you, but I often find myself calm and completely in control when leading my troops to battle against a distant foe."

"Truly? You are at peace when you are at war?" At this, Aureleth can't help but put up a genuinely amused smile. "Heh, that is quite an odd thing to say, yes. Perhaps this is why you have this annoying and reckless habit of arbitrarily leaving the settlement to pick fights with hapless barbarians."

"It is not my intention to encounter the natives of this land, you know." The emperor grumbled under his breath. "Hrmh, I often make speeches to the men about bringing peace throughout the Empire and the Old World, but the truth is... war is what I've become adept at, Aureleth. I am... not quite sure what to do without it."

"A good skill to have in the Old World, certainly." The wood elf nodded. "But we are not in the Old World anymore, Karl Franz. Whether you would come to like it or not, you might just have to become accustomed to living in peace, _without_ the threat of Chaos hanging over your head."

"Bah, that will not do." Franz scoffed. "Our stay here is a temporary one, don't you forget. I will _not_ have myself grow weak and complacent while we waste away here, waiting for Lileath to give us our objectives. One could only hope she'll tell us what she wants carried out soon... and quickly."

"Fine, then. Have it your way, Karl Franz." The wood elf rolled her white-irised eyes. "If you wish to keep obsessing with war instead of settling down and letting nature run its course for once, I suppose it's only proper that I help you keep your skills sharp. Watch your back."

The emperor raised a brow at that. "Did you just threaten me, elf?" He was about to say more, when the waystalker suddenly vanished before him, gone in a blink. The emperor spent the rest of the day meditating by the cliffside and organising matters in New Praag, leaving him drained and restless by the time he returned to his home, longing for a relief to the dreary monotony of peace.

His prayers were answered when Aureleth reappeared from the shadows inside his ill-lit cabin, brandishing her swords and eyes narrowed with deadly intent. Franz drew his zweihander and parried her blows as the waystalker pressed her assault, and he returned the favour in kind by swinging his blade and trying to land blows of his own whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Both combatants were evenly-matched, much to their mutual surprise. Neither of them managed to gain an advantage over the other despite the intensity of their skirmish. Needless to say, Emperor Franz did not get much in the way of sleep that night... but he relished every second he was awake.

* * *

 **WOLFHARD**

Another month had passed since Emperor Franz had left the captive in Eloise's keeping, and thus far, progress with the girl had been good, if not stellar.

"Right..." Wolfhard was tasked with "interrogating" her this day. His sister and her raven knight went out into the wilderness to survey the area with the dwarfs, leaving the witch hunter alone with the captive along with Sergeant Gisele Weiss, the inexplicably youthful state trooper.

"Now that you understand some Reikspiel, I'd like to know who you are before we proceed further. What is your name, lass?"

"Slow and steady, Wolfhard." Weiss sarcastically chimed in from her seat at the back. "We don't want to overwhelm her now, do we?"

Wolfhard shifted on his seat and gave the state sergeant a dirty look from behind his shoulder. If it weren't for the fact that she unnerved him because of her strangely youthful looks, her unusual paleness, her aversion to sunlit areas, and her preference for disgusting Bretonnian wine, he'd be finding ways to get her in bed. It had been so long since he was with a proper woman.

"Ygritte." The red-haired savage girl spoke up, drawing Wolfhard's attention back to her. "It is... my name..."

The witch hunter nodded, smiling a bit. "Very good. My name is Wolfhard, and my acquaintance over there is called Gisele. You understand?"

The northern girl, Ygritte was her name, nodded slowly. "Y-yes. Wolfhard... and Gisele."

Wolfhard sighed, pleased. "Acceptable enough, I think."

"Your turn." Ygritte then said, her tone was much firmer this time.

The witch hunter adopted a contemplative pose on his seat as Weiss stood up from hers and walked over the pair, looming over them.

"We're ready." Wolfhard said, and without further ado, the lass began to speak in her own savage tongue. By the end of it, both the witch hunter and the state sergeant tried to translate her words into Reikspiel.

"You..." Wolfhard began, trying to think of the words. "...want a bowl of soup... filled with..."

"Mushrooms and crab meat." Weiss said, looking quite confident. "Hmm, could it be that our "guest" is hungry?"

"Yes!" Ygritte exclaimed, putting her hand over her flat belly. "Hungry. Imperials make food nice."

Wolfhard chuckled at that, as did Gisele. "I suppose we could all use some lunch for now. What do you want to eat, sergeant?"

"Oh, I'm not feeling hungry." Weiss declined the offer, as usual for her. Wolfhard observed that the woman never seemed to eat. "Well, not yet, at least. We should wait for the emperor to arrive at his usual time."

"Ah, yes." Wolfhard nodded. "Franz."

True to his promise, Emperor Franz visited the dungeons at least once a day, usually in the afternoon. He checked on Ygritte's progress with Reikspiel frequently, and he even stuck around at times to teach the girl himself, after which she usually gave him lessons with her own language. Franz talked to Ygritte only a few hours each day, but Wolfhard was sure he learned just as much from her as he and Gisele and Eloise did, if not more.

"Franz." The girl repeated upon hearing Wolfhard. Her face was sporting a curious look. "He is strong black knight who steal Ygritte, yes? He come visit every day and talk about tongues."

"Steal?" Weiss frowned in confusion for a split-second before shaking it off and smiling. "Yes, that's correct, but Franz is more than just a simple knight, little girl. He is the elected emperor — the ruler of the Empire. He is our lord and our leader, and we are obliged to follow him through every battle, through every hardship."

"Kye-sah?" Ygritte thought on the strange Imperial word. "This Franz... he king?"

Wolfhard laughed again. "Heavens, no. Emperor Karl Franz I of House von Holswig-Schliesten is more than just a mere king. He's—"

"Don't confuse the poor girl, templar." Weiss mock-chided him. "Yes, Karl Franz is a king, Ygritte. He rules over other kings called elector counts, and in turn, the elector counts rule over lesser lords such as dukes, regular counts, barons, and margraves."

"The emperor is a king of kings, in short." Wolfhard huffed. "I hope you understand, Ygritte."

"I... yes." The lass nodded slowly. "Karl Franz is king of kings. I am not surprised, since he strong and rides flying beast to fight. But is Franz great leader like Mance Rayder?"

"The best the Empire could hope for." Wolfhard automatically replied, only stopping when he realised she mentioned a name for a potential foe. "Mance Rayder? Is he the leader of... err, what were your people called?"

"The free folk." Weiss offered.

"Yes, we are free folk." Ygritte nodded vigorously. "Mance Rayder becoming king soon. He first unite all free folk tribes, though. Tribes hate each other. It will not be easy."

"Fascinating. Just like Sigmar Himself," Wolfhard thought out loud.

"And just like Sigmar, I'd wager this Mance Rayder is out to unite the free folk tribes into one in order to better defend against something threatening them all." Weiss said. "Is that right, Ygritte?"

"Ah, well... no." The girl shook her head. "Free folk tribes fight each other all the time. Mance Rayder wants to unite the tribes to make fighting stop forever. Make lands safer."

"I suppose that's what Sigmar would do, too." Wolfhard nodded, putting a gloved hand to his bearded chin. "Well, now that we can carry out a proper conversation for once, why don't you tell us all about the "free folk", Ygritte?"

"Perhaps," Ygritte started, "But Wolfhard must tell Ygritte about Imperials, too. Is only fair, yes?"

"We have a deal." Wolfhard made himself comfortable on his seat. "What can you tell me about your people?"

* * *

 **BENJEN**

"Speak, then."

First Ranger Benjen Stark smoothed his mailed surcoat and breathed out a sigh. "The free folk are planning something, my lord. Something grand and doubtlessly unpleasant for those living on and below the Wall."

Lord Commander Jeor Mormont looked on as Benjen brought out a map and placed it on his table. Behind the lord commander, Maester Aemon Targaryen enjoyed the cold morning breeze as it entered through the window the old man was leaning against.

"Grand!" Mormont's raven shoulder-companion shrieked. "Grand! Grand!"

"Quiet." The lord commander of the Night's Watch briefly glared at his pet before setting his sights back to Benjen's map. "What is known, Stark?"

The first ranger put a finger to the woods near Craster's Keep. "Here, Ordyl's tribe couldn't be found. They just got up and left their own territory — further up north, judging from the tracks they left in the snow. And here," He pointed near Skirling Pass this time. "Yrvild's own host was just in the process gathering as much food and supplies as they could before leaving. To where, I couldn't tell. What's more, over here..."

Benjen continued to list off several wildling tribes whom had been unusually active lately, or simply had gone missing. Among those tribal leaders he mentioned included infamous figures such as Harma Dogshead, Alfyn Crowkiller, Tormund Giantsbane, Morna White Mask, and even the Weeper.

"Hmm." Mormont pursed his lips, looking intently at the map. "And Rayder... what of him and his debased kin?"

"Gone, my lord." The first ranger shook his head. "The tracks they've left seem older than most... I believe they might be one of the first ones to leave."

The lord commander sat silently. During that time, Maester Aemon turned and stepped away from his window. "That is... most concerning, Benjen. Mance has made his ambitions clear to us years ago — perhaps now is the time he sets his plans into motion."

"Mance!" Mormont's black bird croaked. "Plans! Plans! Corn!"

Mormont ignored it. "What do you know of that traitor, old man? He is ambitious, yes, but are you certain the wildlings would allow him to rule over them as their king? They'd likely accept a stronger leader such as Balorn, from Milkwater. Or even that brute from Skirling Pass, Sithyr."

The old maester shook his head. "He is quite unremarkable at first glance, yes, but Mance is charismatic and cunning, bold and devious... he will not be uniting the tribes solely through traditional wildling means, as he is certainly more than capable of doing so with just his mind and his tongue."

"As well as an enemy to direct his new "kingdom" against." Mormont grumbled with distaste. "Brothers, I believe we are in for some interesting times ahead."

"Interesting, yes." Maester Aemon agreed, nodding morosely. "Perhaps even war."

"War! War!" The chatty raven squawked. "King! War!"

As first ranger, Benjen knew all too well how interesting his days would go in the near future. There are many ways a man like him would end up dead in the woods beyond the Wall... or worse.

* * *

 **YGRITTE**

It had been a long time since Ygritte had been taken prisoner by the men of the "Empire of Man", as they called their distant nation. She had since lost count of the many weeks she spent under an ice-dungeon's crystalline, icicle-ridden ceiling, supervised by four other people.

One of them was a young, hauntingly-beautiful soldier with a mischievous streak, named Gisele. This woman had a penchant for irritating her fellow wardens with her sharp tongue, as well as absolutely terrifying the other captives in the dungeon through mysterious, highly unorthodox means. Ygritte also observed this woman to be extremely astute — easily understanding her teachings in Common despite possessing only nominal interest in free folk culture and history.

Another of her wardens was clearly a knight in black plates, though she rarely ever saw him. Ygritte suspected him to have had his tongue cut out, since she never once heard him speak beyond muffled grunting. His primary duties appeared to be guarding the other captives — "heretics", as the other wardens had called them. The spearwife thought of this knight as a living statue, appearing only whenever she began to teach the Imperials about her language and her people. He was apparently called Ser Siegmund Todwunsch.

Two more of her guards were clearly related to some degree, judging by their shared looks and choice of attire. Clad in very stylish, exotically-designed clothes and armoured plates, they were named Eloise von Mannstedt and Wolfhard Richter. While they looked somewhat alike to an extent, their personalities differed significantly.

Eloise seemed aloof and coldly unwelcoming to almost everyone she met, and she looked to be in charge of running "activities" in the dungeon, specialising in making the lives of the heretics in her care utterly miserable. To Ygritte who wasn't a heretic, however, Eloise was nothing but chillingly polite and utterly attentive, listening to her lessons with rapt, automaton-like attention. Whenever she wasn't at work, Eloise seemed to take to reading ancient tomes and mixing flasks of strange, multi-coloured fluids.

As for Wolfhard, he was a lot more laid-back and easygoing compared to Eloise, who was tense and seemed to be expecting battle behind every corner she rounded. He was much more willing to give Ygritte extra helpings of soup and salted fish whenever she asked, and he even slipped her a half-finished flask containing a strange red fluid called "wine" — a foreign drink which the spearwife had almost instantly taken a liking to.

Ygritte's fifth and final guardian was technically not one of her wardens, but he would almost always interact with her everyday at least once. He was the same black knight who massacred Rattleshirt's scouting band singlehandedly and took her — the sole survivor of that band — as his captive... inadvertently stealing her as well.

This man was Emperor Karl Franz, "Elector Count of the Imperial Province of Reikland, the Prince of Altdorf, the Protector of the Empire, the Defier of the Dark, the Emperor Himself and the son of Emperors", as Eloise was fond of telling Ygritte, apparently as a way to instil fear and respect for her leader. Aside from knowing that Karl Franz was in charge of every Imperial in Hardhome and was a horrendously-lethal close-quarters combatant, the spearwife knew very little of the emperor, who exuded a lordly aura of authority and towered over everyone she knew. Karl Franz was incredibly well-muscled and very easy on Ygritte's eyes, though, and she certainly wouldn't mind should he exercise his right to her body one night by demanding her to warm his bed. What strong children they would make.

Out of all her guards, Wolfhard was certainly Ygritte's favourite warden. She considered manipulating him when she had the chance so he'd let her slip out into the cold one night, but she thought better of attempting an escape. The few times the spearwife was allowed to take an escorted walk outside her prison, she would always see Deathclaw the "griffon" creature circling the skies, observing the entire settlement of New Praag, as the Imperials had taken to calling Hardhome. In fact, Ygritte once saw the strange beast pointing a talon at her as it soared over her head.

"Hah," Gisele had laughed back then, upon seeing Deathclaw. "The griffon points at things he wants to eat, Ygritte. Better watch the skies around here."

Even though her cell was warm enough thanks to the lit torches inside, Ygritte shivered at the thought of being suddenly snatched up by an aerial monster intent on devouring her. It made her even less inclined to make an escape. She was not foolish enough to believe she'd somehow manage to slip out unnoticed.

While the spearwife would much rather be back at Mance's host, she also felt her stay in her cage wasn't as unpleasant and depressing as she thought. None of Ygritte's captors ever made her work as a slave or took advantage of her. She was never lacking for company, as Wolfhard or Gisele would always be standing guard near her cell. She was safe, well-fed and nourished, and gods, Ygritte thought she actually ate better and gained weight while imprisoned by the Empire. Perhaps the only downsides of her confinement was that she couldn't hunt game and practice her bowmanship, and that she had to teach the Imperials the Common Tongue in the afternoon if she wanted to eat her favourite meal: salted venison steaks served with mushroom soup.

The days passed by much swifter than usual for Ygritte. Her stay in the dungeons had also taught her much about her captors.

According to Wolfhard, Imperial "kultur" apparently revolved around beer, sausages, magnificent facial hair, handguns, survival despite the odds, hammers, and the worship of several named gods, with the most prominent being Sigmar Heldenhammer, a former mortal man whom had cast aside the chains of mortality and became the patron god of the nation he founded. The second-most prominent Imperial god was apparently Sigmar's own god when he was still a mortal: the White Wolf Ulric, a god of battle, wolves, and martial pursuits. Finally, the third-most popular Imperial deity was an aloof god of nature, favoured mostly by the people living in the regions of Talabecland and Ostland, named Taal. Out of all the Imperial gods, Ygritte figured she took a liking to Ulric's warlike teachings the most, to Eloise's dismay.

The Imperials were also from a place constantly beset by many invaders, resulting in them being desensitised to war and perpetual conflict, as a result to harsh-living in a continent where death was not only likely, but also often brutal and painful, especially to the weak and the careless. When Ygritte had asked her captors as to the nature of the foes the Empire had to face in a daily basis, she was given stories of green-skinned brutes lusting for combat, grotesque fusions of man and beast seeking to destroy civilisation, undead abominations with a craving for blood and a penchant for necromancy, and hordes of northborn raiders following the unholy will of their dark gods, of which the heretics in the dungeons belonged to.

Just when Ygritte was starting to become very keen on hearing of the Empire's many fantastic foes, her wardens were quick to change the subject to revolve around other facets of Imperial culture. Fortunately, this also served to further enhance the spearwife's knowledge of the Empire itself.

Soon enough, after a few months of hard work, Ygritte was capable of speaking Reikspiel passably, much to the delight of Wolfhard and Gisele, the frosty approval of Eloise, and the stony silence of Todwunsch and Karl Franz. Besides Todwunsch, the spearwife's wardens had also grown capable enough to speak understandable Common, but with Imperial accents of varying thickness still.

This day, the young spearwife was outside her cell with Eloise, in the process of describing the creatures that inhabit the Haunted Forest, such as snow bears, shadowcats and direwolves. The stuffy Imperial woman still hadn't warmed up to Ygritte, but she was always ready to hear what she had to say.

"I see. That is certainly a varied collection of beasts you have in these woods of yours, Ygritte," Eloise brushed a lock of her shoulder-length black hair from her eye. She spoke in Reikspiel for her own convenience, as her Common still needed work. "But mundane nonetheless. Compared to what travellers had to deal with traversing the emperor's roads in the Old World, overgrown bears, wolves and cats are mere annoyances. Were we not at war, doubtless drunken Ulricans have had hunted these creatures to extinction for their pelts long ago."

"Really?" Ygritte would've preferred speaking in her own tongue, but she took the opportunity to become more adept at her second language. "How dangerous could travelling in the Empire be? What is it that you have to face while out in these "roads" of yours?"

Eloise sighed, knowing that Ygritte had a habit of steering conversations to talk about the Empire's enemies. "It depends on which province you are in. Should you find yourself in Reikland, then rejoice; you have bands of greenskin and beastmen raiders to fight off at one point or another... and perhaps even demigryphs, if you're particularly unlucky. Still, Reikland is safe most of the time."

She paused to contemplate for a second. "However, should you step foot in Middenland or Nordland, in all likelihood, you will have to face northman heretics, more beastmen, packs of starving wolves of both the regular and the giant variety, and even belligerent elves who would have you turned to mulch and spread around a sapling for trespassing into their forests. Should you take the Kislevite road and head further east to Hochland and Ostland, you might end up facing manticores, wyverns and griffons."

The Imperial frowned. "Finally, once you manage to reach Talabecland or Stirland, there are unnatural creatures of the night animated by vampiric magics. They range from pathetic skeletons, to blood-starved vargheists, to roaming necromancers, up to the von Carsteins themselves. Trust me, little girl. Should you ever end up in the Old World, pray that you—"

The door to the room Ygritte and Eloise were in suddenly burst open, and in stumbled in a silver-haired, heavyset man with a beard. He was dressed in a battered black ringmail, with golden bands engraved with runes around his thick arms. His face was heavily-bruised, and entire form was drenched in blood and sweat; he looked like he just went through a particularly savage beating.

As the man lost his balance and flopped down on his belly, Eloise shot up from her chair, her rapier already drawn. "Who goes there! Show yourself!"

Ygritte was too shocked to react, remaining where she sat. The man's face was battered and bloodied, she recognised him anyway.

"A mere servant of Sigmar." An armoured Karl Franz suddenly stepped inside the room, looming over the downed man. "I have new prisoners for you and your brother to watch over, von Mannstedt. They should easily fill the cells the expired Norscans have left behind."

"Forgive me, my lord." Eloise immediately put her blade away and bowed, just as another figure entered the room. "You've been outside the settlement again, have you?"

"Yes," Karl Franz nodded. "I wasn't alone this time, however. I brought along a small contingent of state troops along with the tzarina, the waystalker, and my Reiksguard. We crushed a free folk host our outriders had sighted making its way to New Praag from south of the peninsula."

As the emperor spoke, several knights began to pour inside the dungeon, ushering at least three dozen ragged free folk captives. Most of the latter appeared to be injured, and some were still bleeding from their wounds.

"We caught them unprepared," Karl Franz said. "We have the Ice Queen's abilities to thank for that. They never expected us to appear out of the snowdrifts."

Ygritte slowly stood up from her seat and made over to the wounded man she recognised. With a bit of effort, the spearwife turned him over on his back.

"Tormund, ye old, pox-faced tosser," She smiled, despite herself. "I've a feeling I'd see you again."

"Agh... Ygritte?" Tormund "Giantsbane" coughed, wiping the blood from his mouth. "Arh, is that really you, lass? Mance told us t' find where the Lord O'Bones'd been..."

"The Lord O'Bones is dead, Tormund. And so's the rest of his poor, miserable band. I'm the only one left." Ygritte was sad to say. She gestured at Karl Franz, who appeared to be occupied with Eloise. "This one. We were spyin' on Hardhome before we made the foolish mistake of attackin' him. It goes without sayin' that he went an' butchered everyone 'sides meself."

Tormund's eyes widened. "Gods, lass!" He sputtered. "That one... he's no ordinary kneeler. I saw him slice Drygrim, Grunvir, and Birmilla in half with one swing o' the blade! He swipes arrows out o' the air, the ice witch herself follows him around, he beat me half t' death with his fists, and he even killed our giant! Jumped off a horse and chopped Jub Dim's bloody head off his shoulders, he did!"

"He... Karl Franz did all that?" The spearwife was surprised, but quickly regained composure, shaking her head. "...aye, o' course he did all that. If he was weak, he wouldn't've stolen me in the first place. I'd have put an arrow between his eyes long ago."

"Karl Franz... that's his name?" Tormund sat in silence for a bit in response to Ygritte's nod. "...eh, don't sound like a southron kneeler's name t' my ears. But wait— did ye just say he _stole_ you?"

Ygritte hesitated before nodding again, biting her lower lip. "Aye. He could've killed me, but he didn't."

"Huh." Tormund looked suspicious. "Are you with child?"

"Not exactly," She shook her head, mildly disappointed. "I mean, my maidenhead's still in one piece..."

Tormund gaped open-mouthed at Ygritte. "That's... that's... I dunno what t' say to that, lass. This Karl fuckin' Franz stole you but he _didn't_ take you as is his right? What's he keeping you around for, then? Does he order you around to fetch his things — are you his slave?"

"I... don't really know what I am t' him — to his people, really." The spearwife admitted in a quiet voice. "Look, I'm jus' as stumped as you are as t' why the Imperials let me live, Tormund. And no, Karl Franz doesn't get me to do things, usually. He only wants t' learn about us and our tongue."

The free folk leader was silent, looking contemplative. As though on cue, Karl Franz's distinctive deep voice sounded off at their direction.

"I would have words with you, Ygritte!" The emperor tersely shouted in heavily-accented Common. "Walk with me outside, we have much to discuss."

* * *

 **THE EMPIRE**

Outside the dungeons, Emperor Franz pulled up his helmet's bloodstained faceplate. The weather had calmed down for the day, and for the first time since his stay in this new world, Franz couldn't see his breath steaming in the frigid air.

"I don't think this is wise, human."

Franz silently craned his head to look at an unimpressed-looking Aureleth. "What do you stand to gain from taking in so many of these barbarians? Best to just kill them instead of having them sheltered and fed."

"Do not question the emperor's will, waystalker." Knight-Captain de Brie was quick to come to Franz's defence.

"Before you forget, short-lifer, let me remind you that I am here as Karl Franz's protector, not as yet another of his soldiers." Aureleth shook her head patronisingly at the Reiksguard captain. "Unlike you, I do not serve under him. I am welcome to doubt his more questionable decisions as often as I like."

"Oh, you most certainly are," Genevieve huffed, still adopting her fake low-class Reiklander accent. Out in broad daylight, the vampire sported a small pair of round, tinted glasses. "Just keep it to yourself, please. We don't need to hear what insufferable things you have to say."

Tzarina Katarina remained silent, looking impassive as ever. She seemed more fixated at one of her nearby ice-sculptures, which resembled a warhorse rearing on its hind legs.

"Please." The waystalker didn't even deign to look the disguised vampire's way. "It is not my intention to have you hear of what I have to say; I will not waste my time and breath talking to the likes of you."

De Brie's frown deepened behind her closed visor. "You could say that every soldier in this settlement hold the same opinion toward you, wood elf. Honestly, I don't know how the emperor endures your company."

"Enough!" Karl Franz raised his voice. He turned to Aureleth. "Elf, I will not have you antagonise my people while you are in my retinue. We fight for a singular cause; there is no need to act coldly toward your own allies-in-arms."

"And as for you," He then levelled his gaze to his own soldiers, plus Genevieve. "My decisions are open to scrutiny, as they've always been. Let the waystalker say what she will about me — I am but a mortal follower of Sigmar, after all."

De Brie stood still in her suit of platemail armour, Genevieve deftly affected a sheepish look, and Aureleth gave the barest hint of a nod. "As you wish, Karl Franz." She said.

Tzarina Katarina nonchalantly conjured up the profile of a Kislevite hussar on the rearing ice-warhorse's back.

Franz took the time to study the tzarina's work before looking back to his companions, of which now included a puzzled-looking Ygritte.

"You're here." He grumbled at the captive free folk woman in Reikspiel. "Good. Come with us."

Ygritte spared a few seconds looking at Franz's strange collection of companions, retainers, and in Katarina and Aureleth's case, wartime allies. "W-where are we heading?" Her heavily-accented voice came out meekly. Her gaze seemed mostly fixated on the Ice Queen.

"Nowhere specific, lass." Genevieve smiled empathically. "The emperor just wants to talk."

Franz waited a bit more before Ygritte walked forth toward him, whereupon he immediately turned about and started marching along the beaten path.

"I see you are already acquainted with one of our new prisoners," The emperor began as Ygritte took to matching her steps with his. "I saw you talking with him with a strong sense of familiarity, at least from what I detect."

There was a mildly uncomfortable pause. "Yes..." Ygritte hesitantly nodded. "He is my friend, name is Tormund. He took me in after she who birthed me left me in the snow to die.

"So I see." Franz remained stoic. "I figured him for a free folk leader. This is the only reason I even relented from delivering the killing blow on him today. Unfortunately, most of those who answered to him were not as auspicious when my forces descended upon them, I'm afraid to say."

Ygritte was given a grim reminder that she was still a lamb in the company of wolves. "What do you want from me, Karl Franz?"

Franz looked away from the spearwife, turning his gaze to the path ahead. "For many months, I was content to let you take advantage of our hospitality, in exchange for little scraps of knowledge. Instead of leaving you to stagnate down in the dungeons, I ordered adequate living conditions for you, and had my witch hunters teach you our language, as well as countless other things relating to the Empire. I was even planning on letting you walk free, as I believed I will soon be out of uses for you, once you've taught us everything about this tongue of yours."

Franz stopped walking, and immediately, as did his men behind him. He then turned and slowly rounded on Ygritte. "However, the free folk attacks on New Praag had yet to stop despite our many victories, and little by little, the Imperial State Army is losing men and women to your people. At first, I had thought the raiders were simply trying to take our food and resources as barbarians often do, but now I am starting to suspect that there's more to these attacks than simple tribal raids."

Ygritte seemed quite disturbed at Franz's words, though she made an effort to appear outwardly calm. The emperor, however, saw right through her weak facade.

"Also, judging from your interactions and the words you exchanged with that Tormund fellow, I can only conclude that you aren't a simple bandit as I initially thought." Franz positioned himself to loom over Ygritte, casting his tremendous shadow over her. "I know you are a spy, lass. Tell me, why are your people attacking us? What have we done to incur the free folk's wrath?"

"Is it not already made obvious?" Suddenly incensed by the emperor's impudence and furious at learning that he had been eavesdropping on her, Ygritte's fear of Franz dissipated. "You settled on ancestral free folk territory! You take away the bounties of our lands for yourselves and killed countless free folk warriors — entire tribes, even! Mance Rayder would not stand for this; he will have you killed before the Empire could cause any more harm!"

At once, the Reiksguard grasped the hilts of the swords on their belts. Franz trained a pointed glance toward them before turning back to Ygritte, "Mance Rayder? Your wardens mentioned that name to me once. Is he the one responsible for all these damnable raids?"

Ygritte clammed shut, puffing her cheeks indignantly.

Franz spent another second glaring at her, his unnatural eyes glowing dimly. "I'll take that as a yes. And for your information, lass, it is hardly our intention to settle these lands, and neither did we mean to deliberately cause so many free folk deaths. When was the last time your kind approached us without ill-intent? The Empire would be more than glad to stop this nonsense before more lives are lost, but you northborn barbarians persist in attacking my men on sight."

"The only way this "nonsense" would come to an end is through the destruction of the Empire!" Ygritte exclaimed, her rough free folk accent thickening with every word spoken. "War is coming to New Praag, Karl Franz, and you could either run south and never return, or die with your men at Mance Rayder's hands, gods willing!"

Franz was not amused. "Where can we find this Mance Rayder of yours?"

"Go to hell."

"Remember what we taught you about manners, little girl. How many warriors can he rally under his command?"

"Fuck you and your manners, I'm not telling you anything!"

"I'm warning you — tread lightly when speaking to me. When can we expect the next major raid?"

"I'd sooner die than betray my own people to the likes of you!"

The emperor was furious, but he chose not to let it show. Instead, he merely grimaced,

"Sergeant Weiss, take this young woman back into the dungeons. Tell von Mannstedt she has my permission to do whatever it takes to extract everything all of our captives know about our enemies. She may resort to torture reserved for heretics if she wished, but she must keep deaths to a minimum; we don't know when we can capture another group of raiders alive."

Genevieve hesitated only a second. "I... yes, my emperor. Come on, Ygritte, back to the cells you go."

Ygritte snarled at Franz as she was led away by the vampire and a few other state troopers. The emperor sighed and dismissed his retainers with a few succinct words and a wave of his hand, leaving only the tzarina and the waystalker.

"Sometimes I find myself wondering what it is that compelled you to spare that girl. "Ygritte" was her name, yes?" Katarina quietly mused. "She betrayed you, then tried to kill you. I'd have her rendered into a statue already had I been in your stead, Karl Franz Luitpoldovich."

"I agree with this human spellsinger," Aureleth chimed in. "—and that is not a statement I make lightly."

Franz wondered the same at times. "She is young... very young. I figured she was coerced or persuaded into choosing the life of a common cutthroat, not knowing any better. Alas, it turns out that she is loyal to our foes, serving them willingly as an observer for this Mance Rayder fellow."

Aureleth took note of the name of the emperor's foe. "While your troops might have little trouble fending off the occasional free folk raid, I feel as though Mance Rayder would soon bring an army beyond the settlement's gates. It would be wise to have this man killed before he poses too much of a threat."

Franz agreed. "Aye, that would be best. I scarcely have the men to spare to an assassin's task, however... unless you're volunteering to do the deed yourself, waystalker."

"And part from your company, leaving your fate in the hands of your incompetent knights and fawning minions? Not a chance, human. As much as it pains me to say it, my duty is here — with you." The wood elf was quick to reply.

"I'll be _safe_ , elf. I still have Schwarzhelm and the Reiksguard. We talked about this, do you recall?" Franz resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He sounded annoyed, but he smiled nonetheless. "And here I was, thinking you'd be grateful for the chance to reunite with your precious frozen glades as any respectable daughter of Atylwyth would."

The waystalker shook her head, her silver eyes sparkling in mischief. "Don't be ridiculous. The barbarian-infested forests of this world are nothing compared to the frigid majesty of Atylwyth. The only reason I'm even considering your offer is that I'd relish the chance to instill the fear of elves into the hearts of savages."

"Go with Sigmar's blessings, then." Franz said. "Be vigilant — seek out Mance Rayder, bring me his head, and scatter his wretched flock!"

The elf needn't be told twice. She took a few steps back, inclined her head in acknowledgement, and promptly vanished from sight, shrouded by the crowd of state troops she blended into.

Tzarina Katarina put a gloved hand to her chin, silently observing the emperor as he slowly turned around, looking faintly pleased for some reason. With a thousand thoughts racing in her head, the young ruler of Kislev parted ways with her Imperial counterpart.

Many weeks had passed since then. During that time, a treasure trove of valuable information was extracted from the free folk captives, courtesy of Eloise von Mannstedt and her retinue. It turned out that the people of this land, threatened by the sudden arrival of Emperor Franz's army and coveting their arsenal of castle-forged blades, blackpowder guns, and baneful sorceries, looked to a leader to unite them into a single horde, dedicated to storming New Praag and driving the Imperials out. This new free folk warlord was yet to be decided, but most were confident that it would be a dreaded, extremely-imposing and charismatic figure known only as Mance Rayder.

Not a single free folk captive evaded torture at the hands of the witch hunters — even Ygritte was not spared. Most survived Eloise and Wolfhard's first "sessions", but some lacked the strength and willpower to endure the soul-cleansing attentions of the warrior priests of Sigmar, on the rare occasions that the men of cloth were invited to participate in the interrogations. Most unusually, and to Franz's approval, a handful of free folk warriors had come to accept the light of Sigmar into their hearts, not long after meeting with the plate-armoured monks. These new converts were released into the care of their proselytisers, to be molded into proper Sigmarites.

Of course, when the priests' Ulrican counterparts arrived to assist with the interrogations (and hawk their own war-god to the captives), an impressive number of free folk willingly converted to the Winter Wolf's worship, drawing the Sigmarites' envious ire.

Once he decided he had collected enough information from his templars about the new threat encroaching beyond the walls of New Praag, Franz had the tzarina and every man he could spare out in the immediate perimeter of the settlement, fortifying the area with towers, look-out posts, wooden barricades spiked with razor-sharp ice, hidden pitfalls, caltrops, and even magical traps primed to explode and either freeze passers-by solid, or burn them in a dazzling spray of alchemical fire and molten metal. Besides all this, the tzarina and her Imperial assistants also constructed three large, strategically-emplaced outposts, which were later manned by forward-observers armed with long-barrelled handguns and Hochland long rifles.

The dwarfs under Cousin Okri packed up every valuable piece of equipment from the newly-established Imperial iron ore mines to the far west and returned east, whereupon they immediately organised regular defensive patrols around New Praag, wiping out hidden free folk scout encampments with the assistance of Huntsmarshal Wulfhart's bowmen, a handful of state troops, and a few grey wizards.

Battle wizards under Magister Lord Starke began to channel the Winds of Magic, hoping to regain most of their former powers, state troops and knights under the emperor and his two elector counts began drilling themselves for yet another war, artillery crews and siege tank operators calibrated their guns and steeled their resolve, and warrior priests of Sigmar and Ulric began praying more fervently for the blessing of their gods.

As for Aureleth, she returned to her charge after wandering the woods for two weeks and four days alone. Whenever she had a private audience with Franz just after their regular sparring matches, she provided him with valuable information concerning the uncharted woods beyond the peninsula of Storrold's Point, as named by the free folk.

The waystalker seemed disappointed at herself for failing to hunt down and assassinate Mance Rayder himself since he covered his tracks extremely well, and apparently never stayed in one area for long, according to the wood elf's observations. Fortunately, the emperor was already content with the intelligence she provided, which included the locations of several free folk tribes, their supposed travelling paths, as well as the features of the terrain Aureleth had wandered on.

With every measure taken to ensure that his forces are more than prepared for battle, Emperor Franz ordered his men to stay vigilant, and expect trouble to come within the times ahead. Indeed, it was only another two months before a group of strangers were sighted approaching the fortified gates of New Praag...

* * *

 **GELT**

Supreme Patriarch Balthasar Gelt emerged from his dreamless sleep and jolted wide awake, coughing loudly, with a head throbbing in agony as though it threatened to split open and burst. His hands were clutching his temples within an instant, his body contorting into a rigid fetal position.

Lying there, writhing in pain on his damp, moistened straw beddings, Gelt felt weak and powerless — more so than ever before. He felt the cold air bite into his charred skin, and the gaping, stitched-up stab wound on his bare chest stung and emitted a strange odour.

Then, in a moment of pure, blessed relief, the throbbing pain stopped. Gelt remained curled up on his beddings for several quiet minutes, slowly sliding back into unconsciousness.

"There, there..." A woman's Talabeclander-accented voice sounded, soft and faint. "Let Ghyran's touch soothe you, patriarch. You've survived this long thanks to my magic, and soon, it will have you revitalised enough, returned to our dear emperor's service..."

With that said, Gelt let sleep overtake him. It was another while before he regained consciousness, and by the looks of things around the ice-walled room he was in, he was all alone this time.

 _That would be for the best..._ the gold wizard thought. _None should ever see the supreme patriarch like this. Not even_ —

"Welcome back, my lord."

Gelt's line of thinking stopped on its tracks. He craned his head to the side, and caught sight of a figure shrouded in voluminous dark purple robes, obscuring its profile. Of course, from the sound of her voice, the figure was none other than the gold wizard's death mage retainer, Konstanze von Lichtenfels.

"Your personal effects should be in this cabinet, and the Staff of Volans as well as the artefacts we collected during our journeys should be under Ludwig Schwarzhelm's custody. Lunch will be served soon; no man could endure being sustained on pure life magic alone." The death mage uttered disinterestedly.

"Urgh..." Gelt rubbed his temples. "Where has Franz taken us?"

Von Lichtenfels was silent for a while. "We are very far from home, my lord, but I believe it is not my place to explain our current situation to you. That task falls to our gallant leader."

The amethyst wizard stood up from her seat. "I hope you're not adverse to learning new languages. I will be waiting in Lord Starke's retinue should you wish to find me after meeting with Emperor Franz."

Hindered by the wretchedly frigid temperature and feeling vaguely weakened by something, Gelt took his time slipping into his high-collared robes, his cloak, and his distinctive golden mask. He immediately regretted opening the door to the outside world, whereupon he was buffeted by a strong northern gale.

"Ack!" Gelt clenched his teeth together and recoiled. The temperate climates of Marienburg and Altdorf weakened him in the face of such adverse weather.

Once he recovered, the gold wizard was quick to banish his discomfort and stomp out, to the surprise of passing men and women in state trooper uniforms, each modified with thick furs to suit the cold weather.

"You there! Sergeant!" Gelt pointed at the soldier closest to him as he strode imperiously forward, his scarlet cloak trailing behind him in the wind. Inwardly, he felt severely weakened, dehydrated and starved, but he couldn't afford to look weak. Not to anyone. "Where is Franz?"

"Patriarch Gelt! M-my lord, you are awake!" The red and white-clad state sergeant and his nearby comrades seemed a little pleased to see the gold wizard up on his feet. Just a little, of course.

"Yes, yes, I'm bloody well fine!" Gelt brusquely cut them off. "Whatever your current orders are, Reiklander, they are no longer of import! You must take me to the emperor this very instant!"

"Of-of course, sir." The man nodded uncertainly. "We've no orders at the moment; we're just minding our own business today, just so you know."

Gelt was perplexed at that. "No orders? What do you mean "no orders", sergeant? From the chilling winds and the blasted snow covering every inch of this frozen hellscape, we look to be in the heart of Norscan territory! Franz should have the lot of you scouring the perimeter for heretic raiders for the entirety of our stay here!"

"Erm," The state sergeant hesitated. "This... this isn't Norsca, sir. This might sound insane to your ears, but we—"

"You, the short-lifer in the gaudy robe and cloak," A distinctively lilting voice interrupted. Gelt and the state troops near him turned their heads to one of the only wood elves in the Empire's service. "I was made aware of your awakening by one of Karl Franz's spellsingers. Should you wish to find your emperor, I can take you to him."

 _The blasted she-elf finds my vestments "gaudy"? Bah! Up until their kind from across the sea abandoned them to the dwarfs, they held no disdain in puffing themselves up in pointless extravagance!_ Gelt's thoughts bitterly resounded. _I am the magister patriarch of the_ Gold _Order_ _! It is only fitting that I garb myself in thrice-damned gold, you knife-eared wench!_

"Is that so? Why did the emperor deign to entrust his instructions to pompous tree-lovers like yourself?" Gelt inquired in blatant suspicion. "From the interactions I've glimpsed from between the two of you, Franz would love nothing more than cast you out of his retinue!"

"Alas, your emperor eventually saw the wisdom in keeping me. We've had an understanding since then." The waystalker snidely replied, feigning nonchalance. "And for your information, I do not take orders from Karl Franz. I merely believed you'd appreciate the gesture of being escorted right into "his imperial majesty's" doorstep."

With more than a bit of effort, Gelt simmered himself down. Yes, he'd appreciate it very much if someone would take him to Franz... but he was much too proud to admit it, least of all to an elf.

The waystalker shifted to her side. "Clearly, I was mistaken. I'll leave you to your aimless wandering now."

"Cease, elf!" Gelt exclaimed, careful not to show his temporary weakness. "I will walk after you. Lead me to Franz."

The elven wench took the time to train an unamused glance at the gold wizard before turning her back to him and walking forth. Growling inaudibly, the supreme patriarch was forced to swallow his pride and follow after her.

* * *

 **THE EMPIRE**

"—just so. Once it is known that the settlement is about to come under siege, it is imperative that we find a way to adequately safeguard every sector in the settlement despite our minimal amount of troops." Captain Kruber sipped at his tea and began gesturing at several key spots on the map bared before him on the whitewood table. "To here, here, and here, nine detachments consisting of halberdiers and handgunners should do the job well enough, provided they're overwatched by our artillery beforehand."

"And once our foes find themselves bogged down by our defenders, your greatswords would emerge from their hiding spots and charge the barbarians' rear flank," Count von Raukov stated, putting a gauntleted hand to his bearded chin. "This leaves Todbringer's White Wolf knights and the Carroburg Greatswords free to keep holding onto the southwestern sector, preventing my mortars from being overtaken and swarmed."

"Aye, brilliant." Graf Todbringer agreed. Beside him, Tzarina Katarina continued to study the written battle plans she had in her gloved hands. "Hrm, I suppose that means I'm confined to the southwest of the settlement, then?"

"No." Emperor Franz sternly shook his head, eyes glowing dimly. "You will take half of your mounted troops outside the settlement hours before the anticipated attack, where you will make use of the environment to obscure your profiles. Once I've given you your signal, you will take the charge to the enemy, utilising the shock wrought on by your unexpected arrival to rout the barbarians."

"Ah, we are to be the siegebreakers, then? Excellent, a plan worthy of every Ulrican!" Todbringer voiced his approval of the emperor's strategy.

"All the while, the tzarina and I will be leading the main force both," Franz continued. "My forces will be bearing the brunt of the battle, but we will perservere. Once we've driven the barbarians out of New Praag, I will lead the charge into the open on Deathclaw, along with the Reiksguard and the Royal Altdorf Gryphites. With Sigmar's blessings, we won't suffer overmuch."

Suddenly, the door to the room everyone was settled in hinged open, revealing a grim-faced Ludwig Schwarzhelm at the head of a large cohort of armed state troopers. "Our sentries at the gates caught sight of a group of free folk warriors approaching our camp."

"For gods' sake, not another raid..." Von Raukov grouched, rolling his eyes.

"They surrendered." Schwarzhelm continued, much to the shock of most in the room. "I had the men detain them immediately. I did not understand a word of what they're saying, but one of the priests did. It appears that they wanted an audience with the emperor."

Franz thought on it briefly. "So I see. Bring them here, then; let us hear what they have to say."

Schwarzhelm nodded and made to turn around. "Shall I bring the witch hunters to convey the barbarians' words for us, my lord?"

The emperor shook his head. "No, I can understand them well enough."

"As can I." Katarina quietly pitched in, absently stirring her tea. "Fräulein von Mannstedt and Herr Richter made for excellent teachers."

Karl Franz's general staff and their retainers and bodyguards only had to wait a short while before the Emperor's Champion returned with the new arrivals. These men and women looked typical enough for free folk raiders, having weather-worn faces and clad in ratty furs.

"As ordered, here are the men I had spoken of," Schwarzhelm grasped one of them by the shoulder and pushed him forth, deeper into the room. "This one seemed to be the leader."

"Very good, champion." Franz nodded at Schwarzhelm's way before setting his sights to the free folk leader in question, whom had tried to affect an aura of defiance in the face of the emperor's scrutiny.

"You stand in the presence of the Defier of the Dark, Emperor Karl Franz von Holswig-Schliesten of the Empire of Sigmar. You would do well to keep that in mind, northborn scum." Unexpectedly, the Ice Queen spoke up in Kislevite-accented Common, her natural contralto voice dripping with a surprising amount of contempt.

"And Tzarina Katarina Borisovna Bokha of the Tsardom of Kislev." Not to be outdone when it comes to showing off his knowledge of the Common Tongue, Franz sternly introduced the only other monarch in the room. "Otherwise known as the Ice Queen."

The free folk man did not seem very surprised to hear such fluent Common from the leaders of his people's foes, but he was certainly overwhelmed at being in the presence of none other than the fabled ice witch of the coast, as well as the dreaded, cold-eyed leader of the foreign settlers.

"I... I, ah..." He gulped down before opening his mouth to speak, "M-me name's Valmund, your grace. I-I'll go straight t' the point: Mance Rayder told us t' let the lot o' you know that he's willin' t' talk it out... there's no n-need to spill any more blood, he said."

"Oh?" Franz was mildly surprised. He thought the free folk thought themselves above such petty things as diplomacy. "Well then, I'm certainly glad to hear that your leader can see reason. I'll tell the men to prepare themselves to receive guests shortly."

The free folk delegate shook his head. "No, Mance said he'd only talk without yer nigh- er, ken-nite— what's the bloody word?"

"Knights." Katarina rolled her eyes.

"Y-yeah, that's it." Valmund nodded in comprehension. "Mance Rayder said he ain't gonna come out an' talk wit' ye _unless_ ye left your fancy tin-plated lackeys, thunder-sticks, an' hanger-ons behind. It'll have t' be jus' you, which means no warriors, no flyin' beasties, an' definitely no assuh- assah- uh..."

"Assassins." Franz supplied.

The barbarian scratched his head. "Aye, ye got the idea. Mance also doesn't like magic, but the ice witch can come along if she leaves her magic behind."

"Magic is not something I can shed and leave behind like a tattered cloak, or a torn glove." Katarina was unamused. "Magic is all around us; one does not simply leave it behind."

Valmund put his hands up in acquiescence. "Right, right, sure. Whatever ye say, your grace, just don't start turnin' people into statues. So, do we have a deal?"

The tzarina silently turned to the emperor, her fair, youthful face set in an insulted, disapproving grimace. Indeed, Mance Rayder's terms were not very feasible, and the "diplomat" he sent to convey them did a terrible job at making them sound appealing and fair. Indeed, Valmund's body language suggested he was not very confident of success — he too expected the emperor and the queen to refuse his leader's offer without a second thought.

Most would say no to the free folk leader's terms within an instant, but Franz was different. He actively sought to catch both his adversaries, and his own allies off-guard.

"We accept Mance Rayder's offer." The emperor reclined on his seat.

"Franz!" Katarina exclaimed in pure shock, displaying more emotion than usual.

"Your imperial majesty?" Von Raukov shifted on his seat. "What did the ausländer say?"

"Aye, we couldn't understand a word of what you lot just said." Todbringer nodded.

Valmund was stupefied for a moment. Just as he started cracking a yellow grin, Franz was quick to stop him from celebrating with a raised hand. "The tzarina and I will go and talk to your Mance Rayder, as agreed. Do however know that we expect treachery at every turn, and we will respond with merciless violence if need be. Now, is there anything else we need to discuss?"

"I... no, that'll be all, yer grace." The free folk delegate affected a clumsy bow. "Just so ye know, Mance wants t' meet in the middle of the Haunted Forest, just a little south o' Antler River. The trail will lead ya straight to him, should ye follow it."

The emperor nodded once at the man, then turned to Schwarzhelm. "Champion, escort these people out of our settlement. They must bring word back to their leader."

"At once, sire." Schwarzhelm and the Reiksguard led the free folk diplomats out of the room without question.

Tzarina Katarina slowly sipped at her tea, having regained her composure. "This won't end well, Karl Franz Luitpoldovich. Had you been anyone else — had I respected your decisions any less, I would have taken charge of the procedure and rendered that uncouth bastard into a statue then and there."

Franz sighed wearily. "Mance Rayder insults us with his terms, yes."

"So you do see that the deal you just accepted was a terrible one." Katarina frowned, irritated. "Tell me then, why did you take it? You could have added a few concessions in our favour, at the very least."

"I accepted the offer because Mance Rayder expects our refusal." Franz answered decisively. "Neither does he expect that we have magisters of the Grey Order at our disposal. The free folk would be disappointed to see that their blades cannot cut shadows."

"Oh. So I see..." The tzarina deflated within an instant. "I apologise for doubting you. I admit, I have been at the end of my wits amidst all my failures to find a way back to the Old World..."

"You needn't worry, my queen," Franz tried to sound encouraging, but inwardly, he felt much the same. He'd love nothing more than be done with this wretched plane of existence and return to his own realm. "Lileath had the power to bring us here; doubtless she is also capable of bringing us back. Let us stay on her good graces by fulfilling her bidding... no matter how much we detest it."

The Kislevite monarch appeared thoughtful for a while. She then opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the door opening again. And this time, it was the previously-comatose Supreme Patriarch Gelt standing outside, looking steady on his feet, if a bit slouched.

"I was going to ask Schwarzhelm to retrieve my staff, but he seemed occupied at the moment." Slowly, the transmuter stepped inside, snow caking his boots.

"Good to see you back on your feet, Gelt." Franz greeted the wizard as warmly as he could, which was not much.

"Did you have a pleasant nap, Marienburger?" Todbringer teased, smirking.

Von Raukov poured himself some beer. "Aye, good to see you back, wizard. You woke just in time."

"Some of the lads lost hope... but I never doubted you'd return to us, sir." Captain Kruber smiled.

The tzarina spared a nod in Gelt's way before returning to studying battle plans.

Gelt himself paid no attention to anyone in the room besides the emperor. "I believe it falls to you to orient me on what had transpired thus far, your majesty. What happened since I lost consciousness? How did we end up so far up north? How did Tzarina Bokha end up here with us... and what manner of witchcraft caused your eyes to start glowing like that?"

Franz's mood darknened further. "Take a seat, and tell me, wizard... how much do you of the elven goddess of dreams?"

* * *

 **THE FREE FOLK**

"Oooohh, I am the last of the giants," Crouched above a buck's carcass, Dalla casually plucked out the arrow sticking out of the beast's neck, wiped the blood off the head, then placed it back inside the quiver strapped to her back. "—my people are gone from the earth!"

Val strode over to Dalla, unsheathing one of her knives as she did so. "The last of the great mountain giants, who ruled all the world at my birth! Catch!" She then tossed her blade at her younger sister, who deftly snatched the instrument out if the air.

Without pausing from her rhythm, Dalla quickly plunged her sister's knife into their prey's hide, proceeding to methodically skin it. "Oh, the smallfolk have stolen my forests, they've stolen my rivers and hills..."

"And they've built a great wall through my valleys," As usual, Val took up an upturned root to sit on, content with singing while watching her sibling do her work. "—and fished all the fish from my rills."

The pair continued to sing in concert with one another until Dalla had removed all the best parts out of the dead buck. By the time Dalla had begun to take the creature's pelt, the early morning mist had intensified, cutting down visibility somewhat. It was getting difficult to look around, but not overly so.

"You know, sister," Val crossed her legs and put a hand to her chin, adopting a contemplative look. "Amidst all these fears of war with the kneelers, I still think you and Mance should go for it. Death could come for us at any time... as you well know."

Dalla sighed, faking exasperation. "As I've said countless times before, Mance and I had gone through an understanding. We cannot be together until after the kneelers have been driven out of Hardhome for good."

"You seem confident of Mance's success against the southron tide." Val put down her hands, letting them rest on the root she was seated on. "Every single raid he conducted against Hardhome had failed, with few survivors on every count, lest you forget."

"Then it is well that our future King-Beyond-the-Wall had considered talking to our foes. Perhaps there won't be a need for war, after all." Dalla said, sounding hopeful.

"Let us hope the gods are merciful then, dear sister." Val pushed herself up from her seat and stood up. "Should the talks fail, and war does break out, I don't think we'll have the strength to recover. I've heard that the southron lord has magic and monstrous beasts at his disposal... which makes me think that these people do not come from the south in the first place."

"Where else do you think these invaders originated?" Dalla rolled her eyes. Her sister had a penchant for imagining the silliest of things.

"Perhaps the east. Slavers _have_ been known to frequent the coasts near Hardhome." Val hazarded a guess, oblivious to her sister's mocking tone. "Or perhaps even the endless seas to the west. The woods witches did say— wait... did you see that?"

Dalla's smirk fell from her face within an instant. As quietly as she could, she stood up and drew her longbow, just as Val took up the dirk from her boot. The siblings moved close, with their backs facing each other.

"I think I saw something moving across the trees just then," Val admitted in a whisper. "Watch the branches."

Dalla nocked an arrow and aimed it at the trees, scanning them for movement. "What do you think was it?" There was some apprehension in her tone, but her face remained stoic.

"It could be just the branches swaying against the wind..." Val tried to reassure her younger sibling. "I couldn't see too far because of this fog."

"And here I was... being glad that it won't be so cold later today." Dalla forced out a chuckle. "Who knew this mist would be the death of us?"

Val clenched her teeth. She was not looking forward to losing her life that day. "Sister, we need to move."

"Where, then?" Dalla lowered her bow and looked to Val.

"Anywhere but here." Came Val's succinct answer. She took hold of Dalla's arm, picked a random direction, then started running after it.

The free folk sisters sprinted across the Haunted Forest, wary of the presence they could feel hounding their every step. It seemed as though a malevolent spirit had chosen to toy with the two women first before swooping in and ribboning them to shreds.

"Slow down, slow down!" Dalla exclaimed. Val's gloved fingers had been digging through her arm for some time now, despite her heavy furs. "Let me catch my breath!"

Val considered letting go and stopping for a quick breather, when both of them heard the distinctive sound of a whinnying of a horse. Beyond the Wall, the presence of a horse could only mean trouble, to say the least. In that moment, Dalla and Val felt genuine fear for their lives. After all, the threat of being cleaved in half by a crow or southron sword was infinitely more real and likely compared to being devoured by some forest spirit.

"Behind the brush, quickly!" Val released her sister before heading down under the cover of nearby foliage. Dalla followed after her as swiftly as she could.

"Just... stay down..." Val muttered in between breaths. "They will soon... come to pass..."

Dalla did not respond. Instead, she began to whisper prayers to the old gods, praying to be preserved.

Soon enough, the plodding clop of barded destriers could be heard. Val left her sister to her prayers as she shifted from cover, propping herself up to observe the riders moving past. At first, all she could see was the mist enveloping the area, but after another few minutes, a trio of silhouetted figures appeared.

"Sister, you have the better eyes," Val looked down at Dalla's prone form. "Come, tell me what you can see here."

Dalla pushed herself up to a crouching stance. She let out a breath she was holding in before peering into the fog.

Once it was clear enough to see, the first mounted figure resembled a woman of humble stature, dressed in elegant, cerulean robes supplemented by strategically-placed steel plates. Her right hand was gloved, but her left was covered by an intricately-decorated, lobstered steel gauntlet. Secured to her side was a sheathed longsword, and strapped to her back was a blue staff tipped with ever-shifting ice and snow. Her face was certainly beautiful, but it was somewhat offset by her frown and uninterested expression.

The second horseman was a massive brute of an armoured lord; were he to stand on his metal feet, Dalla was sure the noble would loom over most men beyond the Wall, to say nothing of the soft and pampered southerners. Covered head-to-toe in baroque steel plate and chainmail armour painted black, and armed with both a greatsword and a warhammer, the lord cut a most intimidating figure. In fact, closer inspection revealed that there seemed to be a strange pale-blue light emanating from his greathelm's eye-slits.

Finally, the third figure looked the most out-of-place. It was simply a man shrouded by loose grey robes, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and carrying a gnarled wooden staff tipped with the skull of a raven. His face looked visibly weathered and aged, and he was sporting an unkempt, bushy beard. He looked as though he could barely stay upright on his horse, much less walk on his own volition.

"So, Dalla? What do you see?" Val asked, whispering. "What I'd give to have one of those far-eyes the crows like to use."

"There's no need for that. I can see them well enough," Dalla muttered back. "These people must be the southron lords Mance said would come."

"For true?" Val cocked a brow, perplexed. "I doubt they'd come so far up our territory by themselves."

"Mance also said he told them to come by themselves, _without_ warriors or knights to accompany them." Dalla said. "I remember him saying he would not count on them to agree with his offer. No one expected the kneelers to go through with it, least of all without complaint."

"No _southron_ kneelers would, definitely." Val replied. "Do you think we should run back and tell the others to prepare for visitors?"

Dalla needed little prompting. She slowly turned around. "I'm not about to let these people discover us spying on them. Come on, let us—"

"Achtung!" A voice rang out, loud and deep. "Nordwärds, FREIVOLK!"

Dalla and Val understood not a word out of the foreign lord's shouting, but the alarm in his voice spurred them to return their gazes back to his small group. Where once they looked well at ease with their weapons in their sheathes, the kneelers were now on their guard, holding their weapons at the ready. The three of them faced north, where a sizable group of armed free folk warriors were slowly making their way forth, straight toward the foreigners.

"By the gods," Val quietly exclaimed. "Those are the Weeper's men... and they look poised to strike."

"Mance told each of his war leaders not to harm the kneelers when they come!" Dalla said, shocked at the Weeping Man's audacity.

"Halt and march no further, ausländer!" The armoured lord had his warhorse trot up to the front of his group. He spoke with a thick, distinctly unfamiliar accent, but his Common could be understood well enough. "This is your only warning! Stand down and move out of our way, or perish where you stand!" With a single hand, he deftly twirled his greatsword in the air for emphasis.

"Eh-hah!" The blonde, scythe-wielding form of the Weeper pushed past his warriors, placing himself at the front of his warband. His eyes looked moist, as always. "You're in no position t' be makin' threats, southron wanker! Hope ya ain't too 'ttached to yer heads, 'cause the three o' ya won't be leavin' this place with 'em!"

"I was under the impression your Mance Rayder would want us alive, considering he wants to talk," It was the ice witch speaking now. "Indecisiveness is the mark of an unworthy leader."

"Mance Rayder can go fuck hisself! 'Twas me who should be leading as King-Beyond-the-Wall, not that weedy, goat-shagging crow bastard! To hell with his damned talks!" The Weeper exclaimed, holding up and shaking his fist. By now, tears were freely streaming from his eyes. "Enough o' this! Boys! Bring me the lord's head, and kill that old man! Leave the witch for me, I want that cunt for myse—"

The earth shook very briefly. From their hiding place in the brush, Dalla and Val gasped as several tendrils of magical ice erupted from the ground underneath the Weeper's warriors, impaling dozens of them in extremely brutal fashion.

"SIGMAR!" The foreign lord bellowed as he charged the free folk lines on his barded warhorse alone. Shaken by the gruesome deaths of their more unfortunate comrades just seconds earlier, the Weeper's men were caught off-guard by the king's mounted assault.

From their vantage point Val and Dalla witnessed the lord brutally dispatching his free folk adversaries left and right with impunity, dismembering limbs and cleaving off heads with contemptuous ease. The Weeper's men held up their weapons and tried to fight back, but the foreign lord proved just as adept in defence as he was in attack — with practiced efficiency, he parried most of his enemies' blows before they could land, and those fortunate enough to find gaps in his defence were immediately disappointed to see their stone-based weaponry just bouncing off against his dark plates.

"KEINE GNADE!" The lord shouted after decapitating yet another foe. His warhorse, not to be outdone, kicked back with its hind legs, caving a flanking raider's face inward.

Meanwhile, the ice witch was fighting her own battle. Frost-enchanted blade in one gloved hand, and magic staff in the gauntleted other, the sorceress kept her attackers at bay with gusts of razor-sharp ice, hails of giant frost spikes, and carefully-timed swings of her sword. Compared to the lord, she fought much less aggressively and spilled less blood, but most of the Weeper's men were reluctant to fight her, considering her legendary reputation among the free folk.

Val looked around very carefully, but for all her efforts, she could not find the old sage who rode with the lord and the ice witch. It seemed as if he just disappeared in the chaos of battle. When she asked her sharp-eyed sister about it, Dalla had similar luck finding him.

"We have to do something, sister!" Dalla said, after a few more seconds spent observing the increasingly-chaotic skirmish just a few yards in front of them. "The Weeper's going to end up killing the lord and the ice witch and destroying our chances of peace!"

"On the contrary, I think—" Val began to speak, when suddenly, the lord in question jumped down from his mount, landing right in the middle of a clustered group of trembling free folk warriors. Blood and viscera splattered all over the snow and tortured screams filled the air as the lord then proceeded to butcher each of his terrified opponents one by one, littering the field with mangled bodies and disembodied limbs.

"...I think the Weeper made a mistake." Val mustered the resolve to finish her sentence.

Dalla cringed upon witnessing the lord violently cleave a man in half with a single stroke. When a large cadre of archers stood up from their hiding place and revealed themselves, bows drawn and at the ready, the ice witch merely waved her staff at them — a seemingly-insignificant, dismissive-looking action which froze each and every one of them solid before they could even loose a single volley. The bloody spectacle in front of the free folk sisters appeared more akin to a slaughter rather than a battle, they now realised.

"This... this cannot go on, Val." Dalla managed to word out.

"Agreed," Val prepared herself to run right into the fray, armed only with a small knife. "Stay low, and keep behind me. Ready?"

Dalla clenched her teeth, gripping her bow tightly. "Ready."

In the intervening period, the Weeper could do nothing but watch through runny eyes as his warriors slowly fell by the wretched kneeler lord's hands, helpless to curb his merciless onslaught despite their vastly superior numbers. They were like chaff before the whirlwind of death their plate-armoured vanquisher brought to the fray, woefully unprepared to fight a warrior-noble of his calbre.

Sneering, the Weeper wiped some of his tears and surreptitiously placed himself behind his adversary's back, using the distraction his men paid for with their lives. There, he waited for the most opportune moment to strike, gauging the lord's armour for any weaknesses or gaps he could exploit as he did so.

"Pathetic!" The lord's baritone voice rang out from within the confines of his beaked greathelm. By now, his entire armoured form was soaked in blood. "Is there nought but one man here," He deflected a spearman's thrust before twisting his blade and running the poor raider through. "—who could present me a challenge?!"

"Aye!" Grinning murderously, the Weeper raised his scythe as he advanced on his foe. "Right 'ere!"

The lord made to turn around, but he acted far too late. The Weeper laughed as he brought his scythe down on a small gap in the kneeler's armour, eliciting a pained grunt and a satisfying spray of blood from where his steel punctured chainmail and tore into his back.

"How's _that_ for a fuckin' challenge!" The Weeper exclaimed, triumphant. He did not expect the lord to immediately whip around and split the haft of his weapon with a contemptuous greatsword swing, depriving the free folk leader of his prized weapon. Before the Weeper could even convey his dismay, he found himself bent over and retching his food when the lord smashed his plated fist into his stomach.

"You deserted your leader!" The lord bellowed as he reared back his hand. "You fight for NOTHING!" The Weeper's tears exploded from his eyes as his opponent struck him across the face with a vicious backhand, brutally knocking him to the ground and forcefully blowing out several of his teeth. "AND YOU WILL DIE FOR NOTHING!"

Consciousness threatened to leave the Weeper. His gut felt as though it was on fire, and his face was mangled beyond recognition, such was the lord's unholy strength. He opened his eyes just in time to see his foe about to plunge his greatsword down on his ribcage.

"YOU. ARE. NOTHING!"

Facing imminent death, the Weeper closed his eyes and let the darkness take him. At least he wouldn't have to feel the urge to rip the damned things out of his head no longer.

"Wait!" A woman's voice rang out. "STOP! NOW!"

"Or do the complete opposite and run the traitorous idiot through. Everyone would be better off without him, I should say." A second woman chimed in.

* * *

 **KARL FRANZ**

The fighting had stopped completely at the appearance of two free folk women. Franz kept his blade hovering above his most recent victim as he turned his helmed head and examined them.

One of them appeared somewhat thin and bony, with a look of intense worry pasted on her plain, rather homely face. Her cheekbones were sharp and high, and she had a smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose. Her brown hair was straight, but rather unruly, and her eyes were a brilliant emerald green. Behind her, the unmistakable profile of a bow and its quiver could be seen.

The other woman was much more conventionally attractive, with a beautiful face and a headful of long, dark blonde hair that reached down to her waist. Her body also leaned to the slender side, but she looked better-fed and nourished. Her curves were well-pronounced, clearly visible despite her thick furs. She also had several knives in her person, all with varying in utility, judging from their myriad of different shapes and sizes.

With a grunt, the emperor planted the Reikland Runefang to the side, avoiding his vanquished foe's sprawled body. Wordlessly, he implored them to speak.

"I am Dalla, Mance Rayder's consort, and this is my sister, Val." The woman with the bow began to talk, with some hesitation. "This man's actions," She gestured at the unconscious raider on the ground. "—have gone against our king's will. He acted on his own."

"So I see. He already made that abundantly clear before ordered his cowardly lickspittles to attack us." Emperor Franz haughtily declared. He paused to glare at the remaining free folk raiders, making them flinch at his scrutiny.

"He thought the act of killing you would make the free folk see his worth as King-Beyond-the-Wall, my lord." The second woman, Val, stated. "He had dreams of seeing Mance Rayder's ranks flock to his banners, declaring him their leader."

Franz snorted in contempt. He was no stranger to short-sighted, overambitious fools seeking to undermine him in their own fruitless bid for power. "Hmph. If I were Mance Rayder, I'd have crushed this worthless upstart of yours before he could set his plans into motion. It is fortunate that his first step to power involved putting himself in my path."

"Yes... quite fortunate indeed." Val nodded in approval. Franz could not help but be unnerved at how she kept her pale grey eyes trained to him, and him alone.

Tzarina Katarina huffed. She had her barded courser move up next to Franz. "What is it you sisters wanted from us? As you can see, we are quite occupied fighting for our lives against belligerent savages at the moment."

Dalla sheepishly began to speak. "There is no need to continue this butchery, my friends. You have beaten the Weeping Man, and his remaining warriors no longer wish to fight you,"

"Not that they could." Val deadpanned.

Dalla took the time to briefly glare at her sister. "—if you so desire, we could guide you to Mance's war camp, which is only a few more hours northwest of this clearing."

Franz was grateful for the offer, but he kept his guard. "What is to be done with our aggressors, then? Their leader slighted us with his threats, and he even spoke of defiling her," He pointed to the tzarina beside him. "I demand satisfaction — my lady demands satisfaction."

Katarina blushed a little, but her steely voice betrayed nothing. "Yes. The appropriate punishment must be meted out, whether by Imperial or Kislevite law, or even free folk "justice", I suppose."

"Not to worry, my lady witch." Val put up a hand. "From this moment on, the free folk knows of the Weeper as a traitor, a deserter, and a foe. He has nowhere else to go but return to Mance, and suffice it to say, his days are numbered."

Franz was hardly satisfied, but he also realised his group was getting sidetracked. Grunting, he kicked at the Weeper's unconscious form. "Fine. Take us to your Mance Rayder, consort, and get these barbarians out of my sight. If I had my way, I'd see them all hanged."

"You heard him!" Dalla turned, shouting at what few scraps of the Weeper's men remained. "Take your leader back to Mance, and tell him what he has done! Gods be good, he'll forgive you for deserting his host!"

The Weeper's raiders need not be told twice. They picked their leader up from the ground, nursed some of their wounds, and scurried off and out of sight as fast as their legs could carry them.

"I hope you realise that those men are not likely to return to Mance, sister. They know the king would much rather slit their throats than forgive them for disobeying him." Val whispered, not counting on Franz's enhanced hearing.

Dalla sighed. "I know." She mumbled back.

"Is it time to go already?" Magister Lord Starke and his garron mare abruptly reappeared from the shadows, startling the free folk sisters. He was speaking Reikspiel with a loopy Averlander accent. "I seem to have nodded off just then."

The emperor whistled to his own warhorse, causing the loyal beast to quickly trot up back to its master. "We have enlisted new guides to take us to Mance Rayder. It should not be overly long now before we reach our destination." He responded in kind. He turned to the guides in question, who were looking at their charges in bewildered silence.

"Well, what are you two standing around for? Onward."

Val nodded. "Erm, right. Let us move."

"Just follow us." Dalla took the first steps forward. "I'm sorry you had to fight some of our misguided kin on the way here. Mance would have stopped the Weeper if he could."

Franz was unamused. Neither was the tzarina, judging from the unladylike snort of derision she just let out.

The journey to Mance Rayder's camp continued as planned. The blood splattering his armour reeked an odour most foul, but the emperor ignored it; his mind was already elsewhere. As his steed carried him forth, he spared a glance every now and then at the trees, searching for signs of the waystalker, and indeed, he swore he caught sight of her blades glinting in the sun a few times.

Franz felt a bit of concern for the elf. She must have been so furious at having to stay hidden while her charge all but flung himself at his legion of foes, thoughtlessly risking his life just to slake his desire to march to war and vanquish challenging foes in the name of the Heldenhammer.

It was disconcerting that a man so opposed to war such as Franz had slowly begun to crave it in its unexpected absence. Perhaps it was because conflict had played such a major part in his life, and no matter how much he conveyed his distaste for it, he just could not bear to see it finally gone?

A chill ran down the emperor's spine. Were the talks he was about to have with Mance Rayder doomed to fail because he'd wanted it so? Will he, in a moment of weakness, sabotage the negotiations in order to speed his Empire's descent into war with the free folk?

Franz steadied himself and muttered a quick prayer to Sigmar; he implored his god to save him from his Khornate thoughts. He sincerely hoped he would have the strength of will to say what must be said, and do what must be done. The lives of his men, as well as many others, depended on his interactions with the so-called King-Beyond-the-Wall.

"Something on your mind, my lord?"

Franz looked down from his mount to find Val ambling by, matching her steps with his steed's. He briefly spared a glance back up ahead and saw Dalla still at the front, diligently leading the path ahead.

"No, it is nothing." He lied. "Should you not be accompanying your sister at the front?"

"Dalla already knows the way much better than I do." Val replied, smiling. "I noticed that the Weeper managed to land a good hit on you from behind... have you need of a healer? I'm sure I have plenty of healing herbs I can spare back at our village, as well as the aptitude to use them."

Ordinary soldiers would likely take up the alluring tribal woman's offer, and with good reason. The Weeper's blow had struck deeply, lacerating the emperor's flesh and making him bleed. Fortunately for Franz, he was scarcely human now, having been made a Grail Knight. His empowered body had staunched the bleeding almost instantly, and his wound was already in the process of closing itself. Soon, all that will be left of it is a faint scar.

Still, the price for all these useful abilities still plagued his mind, however faintly it had grown now...

"I thank you for your offer, kind woman, but those herbs would be wasted on me." Franz shook his helmed head and set his gaze back to the path ahead. "Unless your "King-Beyond-the-Wall" can come to an agreement with me, I am your enemy. Your resources are better spent on those warriors I've wounded."

"They deserved what they got." Val did not seem disheartened by the emperor's dismissal. "And I would be a fool to count you as my enemy, my lord. I've seen you smash into the Weeper's host with the force of a blizzard; not even the prospect of facing hundreds of foes by yourself deterred you."

"I've had help," Franz nonchalantly gestured at Katarina behind his shoulder. "The Ice Queen is worth a thousand soldiers by herself, such is her sorcerous might."

From the corner of his vision, Franz spied the free folk woman briefly hazarding a wary glance toward the Kislevite monarch's direction. "Indeed... though I must admit that I never knew the fabled ice witch of Hardhome is also a queen of your people. Are you... perhaps... her king?"

"Hmph," The emperor held back an amused chuckle. "Good heavens, no. Tzarina Katarina and I are wed to different consorts, and not to each other. She is bound to Tzar Dmitry Timofeyevich Zarubin, as am I to Empress Saskia Steinhäusser. And I am no mere king — I am the elected ruler of the Empire of Sigmar, and I bear the title of its "kaiser", or "emperor", in your tongue... just so you know."

"Ah, so I see. Forgive me for assuming as such, emperor." Val nodded, though her tone-of-voice conveyed her continued unease. "Most of the free folk believed you and your people to be from the Seven Kingdoms, the realm located below the Wall, to the south. I see now that this is not the case."

Franz had known of the Seven Kingdoms' existence from the information the witch hunters extracted from their captives, though he hardly knew anything more about the realm. He also learned about a large, man-made obstruction to the south, manned by people called "crows" who served to keep the free folk away from the Seven Kingdoms, for some specific reason. Franz hoped to learn more about the Seven Kingdoms and the Wall once he had the time and resources to mount an expedition to the south.

"Many of your people we've taken prisoner had assumed our origins lay with the south, as well." Franz confirmed, nodding his helmed head. "I had my men correct them, of course. We are from another realm entirely... one beset by conflict and strife ever since its founding. It is not by accident that we found ourselves here in this land, but we'd sooner return to our own nation had we the means to do so."

Val seemed surprised at this. "So... your presence at Hardhome was not by your own will?"

"Aye." Franz scowled behind the impassive visage of his greathelm. "We were _forced_ to settle here."

The free folk woman kept silent for a while. It was another few minutes before she began to talk again, "What's keeping you from returning to whence you came, emperor?"

Franz heaved out a sigh. "It is hard to explain. I cannot tell you now, but should peace be brokered between our people, mark me well... I'll tell each person who asks, free folk or no."

"Well," Val grinned. "On behalf of my people then, I give you our thanks."

The emperor recognised the sarcasm in her tone, though he pretended he did not. "You're welcome, I suppose. Will that be all, good woman? Or is there something else I can speak to you with?"

Val's grin faded slowly, but she remained near Franz, as though she wanted to say something, but could not find the right words to do so. It was another second before she found her resolve to speak. "I... hum, may I know your name, emperor? You have me at a disadvantage, as you can see."

Franz shrugged. "Karl Franz. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Val."

"Oho, but I am no lady." She practically purred at his words. "And forgive me if I seem much too forward, but... may I see what lies behind that steel mask?"

Franz was a little more hesitant to comply. "Hrm. Very well..." With deliberate slowness, he undid the leather straps holding his visor in place. He then lifted his faceplate up, letting the familiar chill of the wind bite into his skin.

Val's pale grey eyes widened ever so slightly. "You have... a very unusual... _countenance,_ my lord Karl Franz. In our culture, those gifted with eyes like yours are destined for greatness... or at least cursed to a dreary existence as a woods witch." An awkward pause followed, broken by a lighthearted scoff from the woman. "Ah, but alas, you are much too handsome for the life of a woods witch."

"Don't be absurd, Fräulein." Franz promptly clapped his faceplate shut. He had begun to dislike where the conversation was headed. "How much longer until we reach this encampment of yours?"

"Not too long now, do not worry." Val said, still keeping her teasing, sing-song tone-of-voice. "I must warn you, though, what you will see at Mance's host might feel quite... intimidating."

"Woman, I have faced down against the worst the minions of the dark gods had to offer. I've duelled greenskin warbosses and endured the brunt of a von Carstein incursion to Stirland." The emperor huffed. "In the Old World, to be cowed by your foes is to die. I doubt anything in Mance Rayder's arsenal can bring me pause."

Certainly, by the time the emperor, the tzarina, the shadowmancer and their two guides managed to reach Mance Rayder's supposed location, Franz kept a steady face behind his faceplate as he beheld the tremendous amount of warriors his wily foe had gathered. Clusters of tents and makeshift dwellings dot the field, appearing very much like a greenskin encampment in the badlands. Thousands of tree stumps lay as a testament to the massive free folk presence in the area, and a hundred plumes of black campfire smoke could be clearly viewed just up ahead. Truly, the warriors in this encampment easily numbered in the thousands — much more than the usual raiding party tasked with attacking New Praag.

As they marched forth, Magister Lord Starke suddenly commanded his steed to Franz's side. When the emperor looked to the old man, the unfocused look he had affected was gone, replaced with a steely, resolute countenance.

"Emperor, should we enter a state of open conflict with the free folk, our men would have to fight ten times their own number, it appears." He said in his native Wissenlander accent, voice barely above a whisper. "Whatever we do, we _must_ secure peace with Mance Rayder today, or we'll risk decimating our numbers... possibly for good."

"We will be victorious, surely. But even I cannot be sure if we would even recover from the losses we will be sure to sustain." Katarina chimed in.

"Pardon us?" Dalla spoke up, not understanding Reikspiel.

"We were just admiring the quaint, woodsy view, young lady. Nothing to trouble yourself with, surely." In an instant, Starke was back to being senile again. "I say, what's with all these tents? Have we stumbled into a circus?"

"What is a circ—" Dalla cut herself off. "We have arrived. This... this is our war encampment." She quickly set her gaze to the Ice Queen. "Please, I must ask that you avoid the use of magic throughout your stay here. It makes the people restless."

"With good reason. I've killed my share of trespassing degenerates and brutish would-be rapists." The tzarina droned, venom lacing her every word.

Dalla very briefly looked too surprised for words, when her anger took over. She opened her mouth to retort, when Val suddenly took her sister by the shoulder and lightly pushed her onward. "We should not keep our dear king waiting, sister. Let's go."

"Hum. Right." Dalla took a deep breath and cleared her throat. "Follow us."

Franz commanded his warhorse to carry him forth. As his small group passed by the free folk camp's entrance and made their way deeper and deeper into the densely-populated makeshift settlement, more and more free folk men and women began to drop what it is they're currently doing in order to gawk at their Imperial guests.

"Are... are those folks who I think they are?" Someone from the gathered crowd could be heard whispering. "By the gods, fuckin' kneelers in our midst! Just like Rayder said!"

"That's the ice witch right there! I told ya lads she was real!" Another exclaimed. "I saw 'er wedge a bloody spike o' ice right into Gruggnir's head, I did!"

"And is that their lord?" One had asked. "Is he the one who killed Giantsbane?"

"Forget Giantsbane! Horvild said he jumped off a horse an' hacked off their giant's head! Might be he even killed Rattleshirt and his boys!"

"Aye, I'm sure of it! Just look at him, he's got blood all over his armour!"

As the incessant whispering intensified, the emperor looked around, taking advantage of the extra height his steed provided. He was surprised to see an unusual amount of children also coming by to follow and observe his company — some were even carrying their own weapons.

"The ice witch sure is beautiful. Damned shame Mance said we could only look, not touch."

"Aye, it is. And I've a score to settle with their lord — his men went an' killed me brother!"

Franz's mouth slowly twisted into a snarl qnd his grip on his mount's reins tightened as the conversations the free folk in the crowd were having among themselves began to fan the flames of his temper.

"I never got why Mance won't just let us kill them here. I'd have chopped the lord's head off and put me cock up the witch's arse by now, if it weren't for the king's word."

"Y'know, the Weepin' Man had the right idea. If we kill their leader, we might have our own shot at being king!"

"Aye, that's true! If one of us could kill a lord who just killed a giant, then he should be strong enough t' lead as King-Beyond-the-Wall!"

A resounding wave of cheers and enthusiastic affirmatives erupted from many of the free folk. Dalla and Val noticeably quickened their pace and Katarina and Starke began to look around, warily scanning the crowd for the first move against them. As for Franz, a thought just sparked in his anger-clouded mind. His lessons with Ygritte about her people finally had their use.

With a muffled roar, the emperor reined in his warhorse and made it stop advancing. He had it whirl around to face the gathered faces.

"The free folk respect strength above all, yes?" He called out, his deep voice booming from out his helm, his Imperial accent made even more harsh and intimidating. "Aye, 'tis true that I beheaded one of your "giants"... and I found it to be PATHETIC! Scarcely worth my attention!"

Most of the crowd was stunned into silence at the sound of Franz's voice. He promptly dismounted and set his sabatons to the ground, much to Katarina and Starke's surprise and dismay.

"This won't end well..." The tzarina muttered under a breath as she tugged at the reins of her own steed.

Franz raised a fist to the crowd in challenge. "If giants are the best the free folk had to offer, then by all means, challenge me to a duel and attempt to earn your place as king by striking me down where I stand! I am not afraid of wretched excuses for warriors such as you worthless mongrels!"

In an instant, the crowd was worked up into a seething, collective rage.

"Yeah? Well, fuck you, kneeler scum!"

"You dare t' talk us like that? Are ye fuckin' daft, you're surrounded!"

"Once someone kills 'im, I want that hammer strapped t' his back!"

Amidst the jeering and taunting, one hulking free folk warrior had pushed past his comrades and made his way to Franz. Sizing him up, the emperor saw him to be the splitting image of what one would expect of a Norscan raider, right down to the snarling, foaming-at-the mouth expression and the quintessential battle-axe. Unlike most of the free folk, however, this man's weapon appeared to be made out of castle-forged steel.

"YE BIT OFF MORE'N YOU COULD CHEW, SOUTHRON WANKER!" He bellowed in an exceptionally loud voice. "MAKE WAY FOR YOUR FUTURE KING, YA LOT! HE'S **MINE!** "

The free folk crowd very slowly dispersed, so dead-set were they in taunting and hurling insults at the emperor. After a while, they formed a rough circle around Franz and his opponent, along with Katarina, Starke, Val and Dalla.

"Have you any last words, northman savage?" The emperor could see that he was of an even height with his barbaric foe. The raider appeared to be even wider, though.

"I AIN'T DYIN' TODAY, SOUTHERNER!" He continued to shout, threateningly hefting his gigantic weapon. "MAKE PEACE WITH YOUR BLOODY GODS, AND TELL 'EM SITHYR BLOODAXE'S COMIN' FOR THEM NEXT! **HRAAAH!** "

Franz quickly undid Ghal Maraz's chains and drew the ancient warhammer from his back as his foe suddenly broke into a sprint toward him. The emperor wrapped his weapon's black chains around his right gauntlet while he waited for his opponent to close the distance. Once he was satisfied, Franz swiftly moved in for the kill.

As Sithyr "Bloodaxe" put up his axe to take his first blow, Franz moved to the side and avoided the strike entirely. Sithyr quickly recovered and took a wild swing at Franz's direction, but the emperor easily parried the clumsy attack. While their weapons are still locked together, the emperor suddenly smashed his bloodied faceplate against his opponent's head, breaking his nose, crushing his lips, and making him clumsily hobble back. Utilising the chance to put his foe in his place, Franz surged up to his disoriented foe, reared back Ghal Maraz, and summarily brought it crashing down against the side of Sithyr's body.

 **TCHUNK!** came the sickening sound of the runed warhammer pulverising flesh, destroying muscles, and fragmenting bones. Sithyr let out a pitiful gasp as he immediately turned and fell to his knees, his weapon slipping from his weakened grasp.

Instantly, the free folk crowd had stopped cheering for Sithyr and jeering at Franz. Everyone was shocked into silence. The raider should be already dead, but for some reason, he still kept breathing and upright.

After a moment's hesitation, Franz wasted no more time on a battle already won. He heaved back for momentum, then delivered Ghal Maraz straight against Sithyr's bared chest with all the inhuman strength his plated arms could muster.

The results of the emperor's decisive blow were simply horrifying to behold. Ghal Maraz utterly obliterated Sithyr's body from above the torso, splattering blood, viscera, and shards of bones all around. To those who witnessed it, it was as though the raider's upper body had burst, utterly unable to contain the sheer, supernatural force of the blow behind Franz's heavy-handed strike.

The silence pervaded for a long while. Franz wiped some of the blood covering his helmet before turning to the crowd, wordlessly challenging anyone else who would like to try their hand at being king. He scarcely expected to be immediately rushed by nearly a dozen free folk warriors at once.

Ordinary Imperial soldiers would find the prospect of facing many raiders at every possible direction insurmountable, but Franz could never afford to lose his battles. The drums of war thundered in the emperor's veins and his wrath for the Empire's foes overtook him as he charged in and struck down his second victim, splattering her innards all over the ground and the crowd. He then turned around and crashed his gauntleted fist against a flanking raider's face with all his might, punching a hole through his head in a most gruesome manner.

The attacking raiders halted their charge and some even took a few steps back, as though suddenly struck by fear. Franz gave them no pause as he charged to the closest of them and crashed his hammer down on his head, splitting it open like a watermelon. One gathered his courage and attempted to stab the emperor through the back with a bronze sword, but the emperor swiftly turned and deflected his attack with his vambraced forearm. Franz then surged up and made the man double over with a swift plated knee to the gut, before disposing of him by impaling the side of his neck with the gromril spike fashioned into his armour's elbowguard.

His latest victim's corpse had scarcely hit the ground, when Franz's enhanced hearing took stock of the telltale whistling in the air indicating a projectile heading his way from his side. Acting swiftly for a man his size and weight, the emperor took a step back and narrowly avoided a thrown knife as it flew by his covered face. He turned toward the direction of where the blade came from and immediately saw another knife heading his way. Snarling in contempt, the emperor carefully anticipated the knife's arc and snatched it out of the air in typical Grail Knight fashion. The knife-thrower, deciding that his usual method of attack was counter-productive, hurriedly took out two axes from his back and tried a frontal assault, screaming an incoherent war cry. Franz, already tired of his foe, simply took aim and tossed the knife in his hand toward the charging raider. The projectile's flight was lightning-quick; the blade speared the savage's throat with an audible, fleshy thud and swept him clear off his feet.

Now aware of the emperor's tremendous strength, unnatural reflexes and unprecedented skill-at-arms, Franz's free folk opponents were demoralised, but they were nonetheless spurred onward by fresh reinforcements. Franz, however, did not relent and quickly butchered those who took a weapon against him, giving no man quarter in his fury. His fighting style mimicked that of a Blood Dragon vampire, or even a champion of Chaos, what with how brutal and bloody he made each of his foes' deaths. Several of the free folk in the onlooking crowd whom had the good sense not to participate in the blood sport actually took several steps back in fear of accidentally incurring the emperor's wrath. Those who did not feel any fear were also forced to back away nonetheless, thanks to the shower of blood and bone Franz brought on each time he obliterated an opponent with Ghal Maraz.

Finally, after another brief moment, the screaming stopped. The last of Franz's foes wisely retraced their steps back into the crowd after witnessing him savagely tear open a man's throat with his bare, gauntleted hand. To their horror, the emperor did not seem too tired after dispatching so many of their seasoned raiders in such a short time. He simply wiped some of the blood clogging his visor before glaring at his terrified spectators, casting them in the ethereal blue light of his eyes.

"By your own culture's tenets, none of you are worthy to lead!" He bellowed. "Should I challenge this Mance Rayder of yours and triumph, I will have proven him unworthy of being King-Beyond-the-Wall, either!"

"And then what?" Someone called out from the back of the crowd. "You'd be our king, then? None of us'd want t' follow a bloody kneeler, no matter how strong he is!"

"That's right!" Another agreed. "The free folk united under a southron king just ain't right!"

"Speak for yourselves!" Unexpectedly, Val countered with her own words, surprising the emperor and her sister both. "Emperor Karl Franz is just the kind of king our people needs! Under his leadership and with the help of magic from the ice witch, we can finally smash the bloody Wall and take back the south!"

"Why would this southron lord want t' attack his fellow kneelers, Val?" A young man with an unkempt beard and a looted steel helmet. Franz could see his face and furs were matted with blood. "What you're saying don't make sense."

Val turned to regard him. "Because he _isn't_ a southron lord, Longspear. He and his warriors are from the Empire of Sigmar, in a land far and away from here, called the Old World. I speak truly when I say that he holds no love for the south."

"If that's the case... then maybe havin' a foreigner as a king might not be so bad..." Also unexpectedly, another unseen person from the crowd agreed with the woman. "This Emperor Karl Franz is the greatest warrior I've ever seen, for sure. Stronger'n Magnar Styr, stronger'n a giant..."

"Stronger than Mance." Ryk mouthed out, visibly imagining the possibilities of being led to battle against the crows and the southron lords by such a man. "Aye... this _could_ work..."

"Have you three gone the way o' King Vigmyr the Ill-Born?" Someone else exclaimed in outrage. "You can't be gods-damned serious about lettin' this blueblood lead us, even if he ain't no southron lord! He's still a fuckin' kneeler!"

"You'd be a bloody fool t' think like that! The foreigners have the ice witch on their side! She can use her magic t' tear down that bloody Wall once and for all!"

"As much as I hate crows, I hate kneelers even more! I'd sooner die than let this glow-eyed, tin-plated wanker order me around!"

"Mance is the true king of our people!" Dalla mustered the will to speak her mind. Glaring at her sister with a look of betrayal, she exclaimed, "I can't believe you, Val! Mance had worked hard to unite the tribes under his host, and now you're hawking this foreign lord to replace him? He's not even one of us, for gods' sake!"

Within seconds, the free folk had divided into two camps: those in favour of Franz surpassing Mance as their king, and those who were opposed to the idea. As the discussion intensified as more and more free folk pitched in with their opinion, Franz decided he'd wasted enough time.

"ENOUGH! Cease this pointless chatter!" He exclaimed, silencing the crowd. "I don't want to be your thrice-damned king — I only want peace; for these fruitless raids against our settlement stopped, and my people left alone!"

"With you as our king, you can bring peace not just to your realm, but to the free folk as a whole!" Val said. "United, our peoples can benefit much, and prosper from one another!"

The emperor was about to vehemently disagree, when Tzarina Katarina spoke up in Reikspiel. "Karl Franz Luitpoldovich, the threat of war can be averted entirely if you can defeat Mance Rayder in a duel and take the reins of his host. Our settlement is also in dire need of manpower — a problem the free folk could easily solve for us. As much as I dislike their barbaric ways... I'm afraid we'll have need of every pair of hands we can acquire if we want to progress beyond just trying to survive."

"Well, this is quite the unexpected turn of events," Starke chuckled. "While I do have my reservations against joining forces with a horde of unwashed heathens, I believe you already know what choice to take, dear emperor. I'll leave the decisions to you."

"I..." Franz hesitated, before he shook his head and cleared his thoughts. "...no, I cannot be an emperor and a king at once, the responsibilities will be too much for me to bear. I see the wisdom in your words, my queen, but—"

"Make way! MAKE WAY! Move up, you sorry fuckin' lot! On your feet, let's go!"

The emperor was interrupted by a guttural shout, making him tense back up into a combat-ready stance. Everyone turned to see a sizeable cadre of large men with steel weapons pushing the free folk clustered about, clearing a path for another group of men and women on horseback. Each of the latter seemed to project an aura of authority, augmented by their finer clothing and better-quality armour and weaponry.

Dalla gasped and pressed her hands together as Val began to look nervous. "That one, the tall, long-haired man on the front with the lute strapped to his horse, riding next to the bald, earless man? That's Mance Rayder, my lord." She warned Franz. "Our King-Beyond-the-Wall, for all intents and purposes."

Franz grasped the haft of his weapon tightly as he spied Mance Rayder mouthing off something to the pale, earless man next to him. Try as he might, the emperor could not hear his words in the distance. His eyes, however, could clearly see the disfigured man grin in primal satisfaction as a response, baring his crooked, mismatched teeth.

* * *

 **MANCE**

 _Thirty minutes ago..._

"Mance! Mance! Come quick, you need t' see this!"

The soon-to-be King-Beyond-the-Wall was interrupted from his breakfast with the arrival of a small group of his warriors, led by a man called Jarl — one of the last tribal leaders to submit to his leadership.

"You have something you wish to say, Jarl?" Morna "White Mask" uttered, speaking for Mance.

"Bloody hell, woman. Are ye also deaf and not just horrifyin' t' behold under that damned mask?" Jarl snapped, annoyed. "Of course I've got something to say! The kneelers we've invited had gone berserk, and their lord's killed Sithyr Bloodaxe already! The camp's under attack!"

"What?" Mance was shocked. He immediately calmed himself, however. "...no, there must be some kind of mistake. They wouldn't dare attack us in our own territory without bodyguards... our warriors would swarm them within seconds."

"The only mistake is believing we can negotiate with southron weaklings!" Magnar Styr bellowed angrily in the Old Tongue. He then began to gesture for his men to follow him. "Thenns, ready your axes! Today, we'll have our fill in lordling blood!"

"While peace would have been preferred, if war is unavoidable, then my tribe's spears are with you, Rayder." Morna signalled for her own warriors to move out. "I hope we can be an adequate replacement to the Giantsbane and his men."

Mance shook his head. "Calm yourselves, there's no need for that. Come, we'll see to this "attack" ourselves. Jarl, take a horse and show us the way."

"I don't know how t' ride, Mance..." The raider shook his head.

The free folk leader palmed his face quickly. "Ugh, bloody hell. Walk, then!"

After indulging Styr's requests to have his warriors equip themselves in their bronze weapons and armour first, Mance Rayder and his cohorts immediately departed to see the commotion happening in the main free folk camp. Indeed, Mance instantly knew something was not quite right when he saw the large amount of people gathered around, loudly talking among themselves and gesticulating. Surely if what Jarl said was true, they would be already fighting amongst themselves for the scraps left behind by the foolish invaders.

"Look!" Jarl pointed toward the side. Mance grimaced to see a young man sitting on the snow, cradling the lifeless, horribly mangled body of a spearwife. "And here, look!" Jarl then indicated at a group of wounded warriors, each nursing a grave wound. Some even appeared to be on the throes of death.

The free folk leader's stomach churned to see more and more signs of conflict among his people, as well as their apparent lack of action toward the supposed danger in their midst. As his group progressed deeper into the populated camp, Mance's companions became more restless, outraged at how such butchery happened right in the middle of their encampment.

"Fuck off, I ain't followin' him! He ain't my king!" Someone in the crowd randomly shouted as Mance amd company ambled by on their steeds.

"Don't be daft! This man will kill the crows and take the free folk south of the bloody Wall once an' for all!" Another exclaimed. "From what we've seen, we won't even need giants!"

By now, it was clear that the crowd was divided into two opposing camps. A cursory examination revealed they were apparently arguing about an upstart who could potentially supplant Mance from his position as the free folk's de-facto leader. Mance grit his teeth in anger at the thought, as he always did when something not included in his plans had surfaced. Could an ambitious tribal leader he had somehow missed be behind this chaos?

"Make way! MAKE WAY!" A member of Styr's retinue screamed as he pushed those blocking the horses' path. The congregation of debating free folk were beginning to thicken, forcing Mance's group to slow their advance. "Move up, ya sorry fuckin' lot! On your feet, let's go!"

Fortunately, it wasn't much farther until the apparent source of the chaotic state of the camp came into sight. Standing in the middle of a rough circle, surrounded by several bodies and chunks of meat that used to be bodies, a man towered in his black platemail armour. His entire form was almost completely soaked in blood, and in his gauntlets was a bronzed warhammer.

Mance could plainly see how tensed the armoured stranger looked, as though he was prepared to pounce at the closest potential foe. His heart leaped when he then caught sight of Dalla among the few people within striking range of the man, helpless to defend herself should he take her as his next victim.

Acting quickly and on impulse, Mance said the first thing that came to mind. "Styr, I want your men up in arms against that man! Keep him away from Dalla — kill him if you must!"

The magnar of the Thenns did not need be told twice. "Thenns! Bring me that kneeler... with, or without his head!"

* * *

 **End of Chapter IV-2**

* * *

 _Notes: It's been a long time coming, and I have to say, I'm not so satisfied with the end result. I believe this chapter would have to go through multiple edits over the next few days to make it flow better and to iron out the mistakes and errors I've missed. Entire passages could change too, I think. Maybe._

 _Anyway, should I disappear from the face of the earth yet again, it probably means I got bogged down by real-life problems again, though this probably also means I'm busy writing down a bigger-than-usual chapter._

 _As for the future conclusion to the fourth chapter, it'll probably be a little shorter, since it's about the Imperial-Wildling conflict only. Giants and mammoths (they were still travelling south to meet with Rayder, which is why they're not present in the wildling war encampment) should make an appearance on the wildling front, and Franz would probably try to enlist Norscans as suicide troops because he'd need every able man on his feet and fighting the enemy. Expect gratuitous chariot spam, since the former champions of Chaos are led by Surtha Ek. Also, yay, Gelt is back! I originally would have had Bloodraven contact him through visions in his coma, but I figured that making the supreme patriarch into a greenseer would just make things overly complicated. Oh well._

 _One last thing: a pair of characters from Warhammer canon should make regular appearances from the next chapter on (thanks, Lileath). They're related very closely to one another, but can you guess who they are?_


	7. The Empire Endures Pt III

**THE EMPIRE**

— _by the 16th of Brauzeit, the locals are getting increasingly restless; raids are becoming much more frequent (but still ineffective, thank the gods), more free folk scouts have been spotted traversing Imperial territory, and the celestial wizards declared that the portents cite outright war is coming. Emperor Franz, Tzarina Bokha, and Magister Lord Starke have just gone to meet with Mance Rayder, in hopes of securing peace with the latter's savage ilk, but I could not help but feel that their efforts are in vain. Franz seems to think so too, given that he had several battle-ready platoons covertly trailing his company in clear violation of Rayder's terms... he seems to think that conflict is inevitable. As of now, I..._

"Fräulein von Mannstedt?" Eloise was shaken out of her concentration when Gisele Weiss nudged her shoulder. The witch huntress looked up to see the state sergeant holding out a tin tankard for her. "Here's the "tea" you requested, brewed to your... err, specifications."

"Just call me Eloise," The witch huntress put down her journal and took the offered tankard in her gloved hands. "And for your information, what I just had you brew wasn't tea. It's an Arabyian drink, imbued with magical properties to keep you wide awake and alert."

Gisele smiled. "I've been waiting for you to say that, Eloise. But what is the drink called?"

Eloise sipped at her steaming drink, detesting its bitter taste, but craving the temporary boost of warmth and energy it provided. "The Arabyans call it "qahwah"... but in Altdorf, the courtiers took to calling it "coffee". Strange name, I know."

The state sergeant shrugged. "Maybe I'll brew myself one of those, though there's really only one drink that could satisfy me." She smiled again, and she'd look quite ominous if she did not look so young.

"What, those Bretonnian vintages you can't get enough of?" Wolfhard suddenly appeared from behind a snowdrift. He was carrying his repeater handgun with both hands, and he wore a heavy scarf around his neck that obscured the lower part of his head. "Ugh, disgusting."

Gisele appeared offended. "Why are you so against everything Bretonnian, anyway? Did you get mistaken for a peasant by a visiting noble, or is it because a Breton girl rejected you?"

Eloise suppressed a chuckle as Wolfhard huffed an unamused grunt. "I believe it's the former, though I wouldn't be surprised if it's the latter. Wolfhard doesn't know how to act around women who won't automatically fawn over his uniform."

"Hey! I am _great_ with women... Imperial women, that is." The witch hunter raised his handgun to point at the sky. "It's those arrogant harpies from the south I can't stand, _especially_ those bloody Grail Damsels."

"That sounds... oddly specific, Wolfhard." Gisele noted.

Wolfhard sighed and turned around, grumbling, "I'm going back on patrol."

Eloise smirked, shrugged, and shook her head when Gisele gave her a quizzical look. The two women watched as Wolfhard walked away and disappeared behind another snowdrift. They were about to return to their business, when a black armoured profile barrelled through the camp, volley crossbow held at the ready. Alarmingly, there were arrow shafts and even crossbow bolts sticking out of his armour, with blood seeping through.

"Hrrrmmh!" A loud, groaning noise sounded out from Sir Todwunsch's helm. It was clear that he was distressed, though not so much to make him break his silence vows. "Hrghrhm!"

Eloise dropped her tankard and was on her feet in an instant, grasping at the hilt of her blade. "What is it, Siegmund?"

"I can hear whispers... footsteps in the snow," Gisele warned. The state sergeant quickly sprang into a fighting stance, unsheathing her longsword as she did so. "Prepare yourselves!"

"Damn it..." Puzzled that Gisele managed to detect the enemy before she did, Eloise also adopted a combat stance. "Where had Wolfhard gone off to? Someone needs to go back to the main camp and rouse the halberdiers."

"It's too late for that." Gisele pulled her scarf up as Todwunsch loaded several fresh bolts into his modified crossbow. "They're right on top of us."

As though on cue, at least twenty men in dark leathers and chainmail revealed themselves from behind trees and the cover of shadows, weapons drawn and ready for battle.

"DROP THOSE FUCKING WEAPONS!" One of them shouted, pointing his crossbow at Eloise.

"Easy, laddies! You'll get to eat soon enough!" Another exclaimed as he reined in a trio of angry hunting dogs by their leashes.

Eloise drew a pistol from her coat and cocked the hammer. "These aren't free folk!"

Gisele nodded. "Black uniforms and armour, castle-forged steel weapons and crossbows... these must be the "crows" Ygritte had warned us about."

"You there! Stop talking!" One of the supposed crows, a middle-aged man in a gleaming suit of chainmail armour with a steel breastplate and a trimmed sable cloak, took a step forward, longsword in hand. "You aren't wildlings! What the hell are you people doing out here?"

"Does it matter, Rykker?" Another of them had asked. All the while, he directed a glare toward the raven knight of Morr. "This skull-helmed bastard killed Gared! They aren't wildlings, but I say we kill them all just to be safe!"

"Inbred fools! You are making a grave mistake!" Eloise shouted, inwardly disgusted that she had to resort to speaking Common, the language of barbarians. "Attack us, and you risk incurring the Empire's wrath!"

"Templar..." Gisele glanced behind her shoulder. "Perhaps it is wiser to talk this confrontation out..."

The lead crow, Rykker was apparently his name, took another step. "I've heard nothing of this "Empire" of yours, woman. Surrender yourselves and come with us — the lord commander can make light of this incident."

Eloise couldn't help but notice how some of the crows gazed at both her and Gisele, desire plainly written upon their disgusting faces. Ygritte had always told of how the Watch treated the free folk women they captured.

"Templars never yield!" The witch huntress took aim with her pistol, pointing it at the man's head. "Take one step further, dog, and perish where you stand!"

"If it is a fight you wish..." Rykker shook his head disapprovingly. Raising his hand, he signalled his men to attack. "At them, rangers! KILL TH—"

The distinctive crack of a firearm pierced the air, startling the crows. Eloise blinked once, twice, then pulled down her pistol and looked to the side, finding her half-brother holding his smoking repeater handgun up, pointed toward the sky.

"Now that I have your attention," Wolfhard levelled his gun to point at the crows' general direction. "I'd like you to put those little toys of yours away and stop bothering my friends here."

Rykker removed his hands from his ears. "What did you just do? What was that explosion just then?"

"I pulled the trigger on my handgun." Wolfhard deadpanned, still aiming his gun downrange. "It's simple, really. I point at people with this, I pull the trigger, and it blows a new hole in their bodies. And believe me..."

Wolfhard angled his handgun slightly to the side and opened fire. The crows covered their ears and some cowered in fear and surprise as the firearm's loud report resounded again. Rykker opened his eyes to see that his comrade beside him had the head of his spear blown right off, rendering the weapon useless.

"...I'm a good shot." The witch hunter returned his gun to its original angle. "So, how do you want to play this game, crow?"

Rykker seemed to hesitate, but only for a brief while. "Smoke and mirrors! No amount of sorcery can save you from steel, cold and real and hard!"

"Pfeh." The witch hunter rolled his eyes. "Since you're so eager to get killed and so doubtful of our capability to do so, perhaps you'll be more willing to see reason when outnumbered three to one, hmm?"

"Hah!" Rykker mockingly laughed. "By the gods, do you even know how to count? There's twenty two of us, and only four of—"

Wolfhard put his fingers in his mouth and blew out a shrill, powerful whistle.

Within moments, an entire detachment of sixty state troopers, mounted knights, and even a few of Huntsmarshal Wulfhart's elites emerged from their hiding places, appearing behind and all around the witch hunter, brandishing a dizzying array of steel, bows, and blackpowder guns.

"DROP THOSE WEAPONS! NOW!" A state lieutenant bellowed in harsh and guttural Middenlander-accented Reikspiel.

"Down, Ursula! Steady, girl!" One of the demigryph-riding knight reined in his increasingly restless monster of a steed. "You'll get something to eat soon, I promise!"

"Make ready, men! Prepare to fire!" A handgunner sergeant raised his sabre in time with his men lowering their firearms downrange, training their iron sights toward the surprised foe.

The crows took several hurried steps back, visibly cowed by the appearance of more soldiers and mounted knights than they could handle. Even their war hounds inched back, heads hung low and tails between their hind legs.

Rykker in particular was fixated on the demigryphs and the plate armoured knights that rode on them. "Wh-what manner of foul monstrosities are those? Who the hell are you people?!"

Eloise smirked, relishing the look of raw terror on the man's face. "I believe the tables have turned, crow. Lay down your arms and bend the knee to us, and I promise, you and your men will be treated fairly under Imperial law."

"What you're saying is madness, woman!" Rykker glanced behind him, finding that at least half of his warriors had already thrown their weapons to the snow in surrender. Worse, he could make out the shadowed profiles of mounted Imperial soldiers galloping forth, blocking his group's main escape route. "Lord Commander Mormont will see you pay for this! All of you!"

It wasn't very long until each of the twenty two surrendering crows were bound in chains, their horses taken in by the state troops. Eloise wasted no time in setting up shop as best as she could and interrogating her new prisoners, starting with their leader, of course.

"Let us start with the most important question," Eloise paced around her target, who was being restrained by her own raven knight. How she wished she brought her tools of judgement along. "Why did you threaten to attack us?"

"We had no reason to, but your black dog here," Rykker elbowed Todwunsch behind him, causing the knight to strike him on the side in retaliation. "—hrmph! Agh, bloody hell! See what I mean? He's a fucking lunatic, he put a quarrel inside Gared's head!"

"Though not without reason."

Everyone turned their heads to see a lithe, hooded figure sliding down from a withered tree. "Your man, surprised and fearful of the knight of Morr's sudden and unexpected appearance, loosed an arrow against the latter. His action proved to be his last and most decisive mistake, given that his would-be victim survived, and was skilled in the use of his crossbow."

"Hrrmhm." Todwunsch nodded in approval of Aureleth's retelling of the incident. Grunting, he gestured at one of the steel-tipped arrows sticking out of his armour.

Eloise was not overly pleased to see the elf, but her appearance was not unexpected. "I suppose you're here to tell us what you saw back there, and how this Gared fellow died?"

It took Rykker a while to regain his composure and speak to the newcomer in their midst. "And who might you be? You don't sound like a wildling, but unlike these people, you do dress like one."

The waystalker crossed her arms and looked to Eloise, thoroughly ignoring Rykker. "I happened to be nearby when your knight shot the "crow" in retaliation, but I did not come here to shed further light on this incident, no. I came here to tell you that the negotiations with the free folk had failed utterly; your emperor requires your aid, or he will be overwhelmed."

"Oh." The witch huntress was momentarily taken aback. "By the gods, elf, why didn't you say so immediately?"

Turning to regard her soldiers, Eloise began to spout orders left and right. "Outriders, find the other detachments and tell them to head west to relieve Emperor Franz! As for the rest of you, form up! We march as one, for Sigmar and Empire!"

The state troops and knights let out a cheer as they immediately took to their orders. Swiftly, a state of organised chaos descended upon the area, with soldiers noisily moving back and forth and army supplies being handed out.

"Negotiations?" Rykker tried to shake himself free from Todwunsch's grasp, but his efforts quickly proved in vain. "You're negotiating with wildlings? What are you intending to do, storm the Wall together? Damn it, answer me!"

"Not really." Wolfhard shook his head and answered for his sibling, whom had ignored the crow and began to mobilise the troops to advance. "Since we settled here, we've been fighting the free folk, or "wildlings", as you call them. This morning, our emperor embarked west to broker peace with their king, but as you've heard, things have just gone south."

"Who in the right mind would settle down in this frozen shithole?" Rykker blurted out, incredulous. "And you're mad to think you'll manage to negotiate something resembling peace with the wildlings. They exist to plunder, to raid, and to rape. It's what they've done for thousands of years, and I doubt they'd change any time soon. Where the hell are you lot from, anyway?"

"Don't hurt your head thinking about it." The witch hunter loaded new shot and powder into his handgun. "All you need to know is that we oppose the free folk, crow... just like you. Don't make the mistake of drawing an enemy out of a potential ally."

* * *

 **RYKKER**

"I can't believe this..." Will had complained. "First they killed Gared, and now they're— grngh!"

The young poacher-turned-ranger swiftly received a wooden "handgun" stock to the spine, his words swiftly dying in his bloody mouth.

"Mach weiter, Schwein! Vorwärts, mach schnell!" An Imperial soldier — one of the so-called "state troopers", pushed Will forward, forcing him to keep moving along.

"Harh, just shut up for now, boy." Ser Jaremy Rykker hissed, tugging at his iron bonds. "I've a plan that can get us out of these damned cuffs, but we might just have to fight afterward."

"Anything's better than getting shoved around by these foreign rotters." Karne of Hightower grunted, his face hidden by his long and unkempt bangs. His scarred mouth then curled into a smirk. "It's been so long since I've seen women, though. I like that one's arse."

"Right..." Rykker wet his lips and glanced around for opportunities. His eyes eventually came to a stop upon seeing an Imperial officer, distinguished by his decorated half-plate armour and the feather-tipped flat cap on his head. "Hail Imperial! Come here, we need to talk!"

"Hrm, was?" The man, a twitchy, younger-looking fellow with sandy blonde hair and a rough stubble, turned to Rykker's voice. "...Oh."

He put a gloved fist to his mouth and coughed into it. "Was wünschen Sie, Crow?" He spoke the demented tongue of his first before realising his mistake. "Ehem! Vat haff you to say for yourself?"

The officer's voice was thickly-accented, but Rykker understood him well enough. "The man I spoke to earlier, the one with the tall hat, the coat, and the handgun... what was his name again? Wolf-something or somesuch."

"Ah, Ich verstehe. You mean Herr Richter ze templar, yes? He is at ze front, scouting ahead for zis detachment." The officer narrowed his eyes. "Vat do you need him for? He ist going to be busy for a long time."

"I represent the Night's Watch," Rykker said, trying to muster some steel into his voice. "—and I wish to make a deal with your Empire through this Herr Richter person."

"Like I said, he vill be busy. You understand, ja?" The Imperial shook his head firmly. "Vhy not talk to Hauptmann Schindler, or perhaps Lady von Mannstedt instead? I am sure zhey are—"

"No, you damned fool. I won't talk to anyone except Richter." Rykker was beginning to lose patience. Wolfhard seemed like a reasonable, down-to-earth sort, unlike the stubborn, rapier-wielding woman from earlier. "As a high-ranking prisoner, I demand to see this man, ser. Take him to me. Do it _now._ "

Rykker's attempt at intimidation was met with a resounding backhand from the officer, knocking all the wind from the ranger. "You are in no position to be making demands, crow. Höflich sein, and vatch your words — be grateful zat I vill still listen."

Dazed and plagued by blurred vision, Rykker spoke through grit teeth, "Argh... damn it. Fine. Would you bloody well kindly tell Herr Richter to come to me and have a damned good talk?" He spat out some of the blood seeping through from his cut lips. "Are you quite satisfied, ser?"

"Zat vas not so hard, was it? A little politeness goes a long way in Altdorf, vhere I come from." The officer hurried his steps and walked ahead, leaving Rykker behind him. "Just keep following our soldiers, and I vill see if I can convince the templar to come see you."

"Insolent, mush-mouthed, foreign _bastard_." Rykker growled out at the man's back once he was out of earshot. He had no choice but wait until, at last, a familiar face in the strange hat and clothing appeared.

Wolfhard Richter slung his handgun over his shoulder as he matched his steps to Rykker's steady pace. He appeared mildly annoyed. "Right, let's make this quick. Leutnant Adler told me you wish to negotiate with us... though I am puzzled as to why you'd want me to do so."

"Does it really matter, ser?" The black brother sighed. "Look, just listen to me. I've been thinking about what you said earlier — you told me your "Empire" is opposed to the wildlings, correct? You also warned me not to make an enemy out of you, given that we share the same foe."

"Hmm..." Contemplative, Wolfhard pulled off the leather glove from his left hand and scratched his stubbled cheek. "Do go on, ser."

"Well, I've decided to take your advice to heart." Rykker said, with some reluctance. "Free us from our bonds, and return our weapons to us... and for this one time, Wolfhard Richter, the rangers of the Night's Watch will fight alongside the Empire."

The foreigner was surprised at this, but not unpleasantly so. "Eloise...?" He exclaimed to someone else in the marching formation. "Du solltest unsere Krähe hier hören!"

It was only a little while until the ill-tempered, rapier-wielding woman Rykker had the misfortune of encountering earlier reappeared, sporting an annoyed look. She opened her mouth to say something, but Wolfhard cut her off by seizing the opportunity to speak first.

"Sister," He spoke in Common, perhaps in consideration of his original company. "This man..." Wolfhard gestured at the black brother, turning to look at him. "Err, what was your name again, crow?"

"Ser Jaremy Rykker of the Night's Watch." The ranger made an effort to puff his chest out a bit, despite such an effort being proved futile by his steel breastplate.

"Did you just refer to yourself as a "ser", crow?" The woman, apparently Wolfhard's own sister, voiced out, eyes narrowed.

"That's right." Rykker did an eye-roll as he spoke. "I may have taken the black, but I'm still a knight, anointed in the seven oils by a septon... as is proper."

Wolfhard put a fist to his mouth and loudly cleared his throat. "Ehem. Yes, that's all well and good, ser knight, but we're getting sidetracked here." He swivelled his head to his sibling. "As I was saying, Eloise, our prisoner here intends to make us a rather interesting offer, and I believe you should hear it from him yourself."

"That so?" The woman, who Rykker learned was named Eloise, crossed her arms, leaning slightly forward. "Well, spit it out, then! Our time runs short, even as we speak."

"Hmph." Rykker's temper was slowly getting the best of him. The nerve of this Imperial — she shouldn't even be out here, participating in war with men. The ranger had long thought that only the free folk would be so barbaric as to allow their womenfolk to become warriors.

"Your Empire and the Night's Watch share a common foe in the free folk, as you most undoubtedly know. In exchange for our freedom, we will go into battle with you... for now."

"Oh, will you now...?" Eloise seemed to consider the offer. "To tell you the truth, Ser Rykker, I don't know if we could trust the likes of you, but as it is, the Empire is desperate for manpower and—"

"Fräulein von Mannstedt!" A mounted Imperial soldier trotted by, hefting one of those strange, multi-barrelled handguns Wolfhard was carrying. "Meine Dame, wir haben Kaiser Franz, Königin Katarina und Lord Starke gesehen! Sie sind unter Angriff von Barbaren!"

Eloise took a second to respond, her face visibly lighting up. "Mobilisieren Sie die Soldaten — wir marschieren zum Kampf!"

The man saluted. "Jawohl, Templar! Raah!" He cracked his horse's reins against the animal's back, causing it to gallop forth.

Eloise quickly turned back around to Rykker. "Listen well, crow. We've just run out of time, our emperor is cut off from reinforcements and under assault by Mance Rayder's warriors. I'm accepting your offer, but know that the moment you decide to take advantage of my trust..."

Rykker's eyes widened as Eloise suddenly seized his collar and pulled him close. The ranger was alarmed at how strong she was. "I'll have your skull extracted from your twitching corpse and used as paperweight. Am I understood, Ser Rykker of the Night's Watch?"

The black brother grit his teeth and forced himself to nod. In response, Eloise shoved him back. "Wolfhard, nimm diese Ketten von unseren Gefangenen. Gib ihnen ihre Waffen zurück."

"Ja, ja. Aber sicher doch, liebe Schwester." Wolfhard mock-saluted before producing an iron key from one of the box-shaped leather containers strapped to his belt. He wasted no time going through Rykker's metal bonds. "So, Herr Rykker, how good are you with the sword? Do you fight the free folk often? Practice your swings every now and then?"

Rykker immediately rubbed his wrists upon being freed. "Well enough against wildlings." He grunted. "Let's just get this over with. I need my sword and my horse back."

"Ah-uh, in a moment." The man wagged a gloved finger, bearing that weaselly smirk of his. "I have your men to release first, you know. Not to worry, I'll make sure you all get your hands on proper steel before we begin our attack. As for your animals... well, we can't risk having you run out on us, can we?"

Half an hour of marching through the woods had passed before such an attack happened. Wolfhard made good on his promise and returned the black brothers' arsenal of swords, bows and crossbows back into their keeping, just in time for them to be used. Indeed, the telltale sounds of combat could be faintly heard just ahead.

"Ser Rykker!" Eloise called out as she approached her Night's Watch allies for the day. "The outriders report that they've spotted a group of battle-weary free folk raiders in the clearing ahead! I want you and your men to be ready, you will be first to ambush them!"

The senior ranger shook his head, scowling. "If your men could see the wildlings, they've already seen you coming! We should—"

"VORSICHT!"

A storm of wildling arrows forced Eloise to clam up as she followed her men as they scrambled to cover. Rykker barked a quick command, and in an instant, he and his men put up their shields, not at all unsettled by such a familiar enemy tactic.

"Hold your positions!" He screamed, gripping his shield tightly. "Heeere they come, lads!"

As though on cue, a swarm of wildling raiders emerged from their hiding places, hefting their arsenal of axes and bows with unsavoury intent. The men of the Night's Watch stood their ground as their Imperial allies quickly composed themselves, resolutely staring down on the legion of hostile savages bearing down on them from every conceivable direction.

"DEATH TO KNEELERS, ALL!" A hulking wildling bellowed as he and his fellows broke into a sprint, charging Rykker's entrenched position. The black brothers prepared to receive combat, when a line of Imperial handgunners suddenly opened fire.

Rykker was abruptly shaken out of focus at the sound of several firearms erupting at once. After the blackpowder smoke cleared, he was very shocked to see that a significant chunk of the wildlings advancing on his position were now lying on the snow, their bodies riddled full of holes. He had no time to adjust his tactics when the diminished wildling force impacted his braced formation.

"Guh!" Rykker steadied himself as a wildling greataxe lodged itself into his shield. The savage behind the weapon retracted it and hoisted his steel above his head in preparation for a second strike, when Rykker moved to retaliate. Heaving in a lungful of air, the black brother advanced and smashed his shield into his attacker's front, knocking him on the snow. Snarling, Rykker kicked his sprawled adversary's weapon away and plunged his sword down on the poor man's ribcage.

The black brother had a second to himself after retracting his blade from his defeated opponent's dying body. Meanwhile, another of his foes wiped the blood staining her pilfered steel halberd, menacingly eyeing Rykker down. Just when he thought battle was inevitable, yet another unexpected thing happened. He recoiled and yelped in surprise as the raider suddenly vanished in an explosion of blood, gore, and bone, splattering him and his nearby comrades with the woman's warm insides.

"Bloody hell! Ahh! FUCK!" Will hobbled back, scrambling to wipe the fluids blinding him.

"Alle Soldaten von Reikland!" The ground quaked as a hellish, wheeled contraption of steel, bronze, and gold emerged from the smoke, trailed by a phalanx of state troopers and knights. Atop the steam tank, an Imperial engineer blasted foes left and right with a mounted repeater turret, screaming litanies and encouraging words in the Empire's guttural tongue. "FOLGE MIR ZUM HERRLICHKEIT!"

Whereas Rykker and his men felt fear at the sight of it, the Imperials were whipped into a frenzy upon seeing the siege engine sowing such unmitigated destruction and strife upon the disorginised wildling ranks.

"Für das Reich!" They chanted as they slaughtered their way through the opposition. "FÜR DEN KAISER! **FÜR SIGMAR!** "

Rykker and his Night's Watch comrades stood together and beheld the carnage the Imperials wrought, stunned and disturbed at what lied before them. Swordsmen, normally one step behind the halberdiers, recklessly led the assault at the front and cut down those foolish enough to stand in their path. Handgunners supported the swordsmen as they pressed deeper into enemy lines, and they were supported in turn by the halberdiers, who kept any flanking wildling elements back. All the while, the knights and their demigryph-riding comrades carved a brutal, seperate path of their own; armed with measly stone weaponry, their barbarian foes were helpless to slow their ruthless and unrelenting onslaught.

"W-who the hell are these people, ser?" One of the rookies under Rykker had asked, clearly frightened out of his wits. The rest of his men were in a similar state, but the more experienced ones were hardened enough to keep their mouth shut and their sword-arms ready.

The senior ranger forcefully shook his head to regain his composure. "...they're probably the real reason as to why Rayder was rallying his people for war in the first place."

Approaching footsteps caused the black brothers to turn toward the source, which turned out to be a wounded templar. Wolfhard Richter let the bleeding gash on his cheek flow freely as he loaded more shot and powder into his multi-barrelled handgun.

"Enjoying the carnage?" He snarked, to no one in particular. "Come on, crows, move your feet. Eloise is going to leave us behind at this rate."

Rykker was too mentally drained to argue. He gestured for his men to follow the trail of mangled bodies the Imperials made. The black brother heard from Maester Aemon that Mance Ryder was gathering his people in preparation for war, but he was still unsettled to see how many warriors Rayder had already gathered... and how they still seemed insufficient to deal with a small portion of the Empire's might.

"Do you still think your king is still alive?" Rykker heard one of his own speaking to Wolfhard as they advanced forward. "You said he was with two companions when he left; Rayder's men already had them killed or imprisoned, in all likelihood."

"Franz is an emperor, not a king." Wolfhard pointedly corrected. "To answer your question, we have no reason to suspect that he has been subdued by the free folk. After all, why are so many raiders congregated in this tiny patch of the woods? It is because Franz is here, and he has been successful in defending himself thus far."

"Hmph. If that's true, this Emperor Franz of yours must be one of the best warriors alive." Rykker scoffed out loud. "No one could hold out against this many wildlings at once. Not even Ser Barristan, or Ser Arthur Dayne back in the day."

Wolfhard adopted a wry smirk, which was somewhat marred by the bleeding slash wound on his face. "You are in for quite the surprise then, Ser Rykker."

The senior ranger frowned. "After all I've seen from you lot? I highly doubt that."

A dark shadow loomed overhead, followed by an ear-piercing, avian screech.

* * *

 **End of Chapter IV-3**

* * *

 _Notes: I've mentioned this before in a few other PMs among others. Let it be known that I did not write this story with the intention of setting up a harem revolving around Franz. As a matter of fact, I find that stories involving harems leave a sour taste in my mouth, for preferential reasons. The reason why I've written so many goddamn female characters for protagonists is because I want the relatively liberal Empire to provide a contrast to the more traditionalist Seven Kingdoms in regards to the role of women in civilised society. Also, the reason why they seem to interact with Franz the most is because unlike some of them, he's already established as a character, and also because, well, he's the emperor - the man who dictates what goes on in the settlement they're in._

 _Since this is a crossover with ASOIAF, expect a lot of these girls to unceremoniously (or gloriously, depending on the situation) bite the dust. Such is life in feudal Westeros._


	8. Reinforcements

**THE EMPIRE**

Commander Gerolf Schnyder roared and shouted his fury along with the mechanical rhythm of his steam cannon. Dozens of free folk raiders threw themselves into the open and within his engine of death's line-of-sight, but the _Starklanze_ 's guns brought each of them low, all too often shredding their frail and pathetic forms to bloody pieces outright.

"Die, you unwashed heathen dogs! FOR THE EMPEROR!" The Imperial engineer soaked up every detail as he watched his enemies flail around and scream their lungs out as jets of high-pressure steam covered them in hideous burns. He hadn't sown this much carnage since the Empire-Bretonnian Border Dispute of '06. His cannon's barrel soon started glowing red with heat, but Gerold did not let up, refusing to yield even an inch of ground to the enemy.

"On alert, _Starklanze_!" One of the state troopers on the ground and in formation next to the steam tank shouted at Gerolf as he kept spraying away from his turret. "An outrider just came; we've got new orders from the main force! Captain Eisenstein's boys are trying to pave the way to the emperor with Lady von Mannstedt's assistance — they want us to hold our positions here and keep any flanking raiders from passing through our defensive line!"

This made Gerolf pause. He climbed up and shifted his bulk to look down at the soldier addressing him. "Hold position? What the devil are those fucking Reiklanders thinking? We're already under-strength and now we're running low on munitions!" He growled in annoyance. "When is the detachment going to receive any help?"

"Not for a while, sir! Todbringer's people are occupied to the west, and— ah shit, shields up, lads! HERE THEY COME!"

Gerolf followed the blaring of a warhorn and turned to where the trooper was looking. The tank commander was surprised and more than a little annoyed to see a massive wave of bronze-armoured barbarians approaching from the woods on the eastern flank, bearing spears, swords, axes and maces made out of bronze and even steel.

Grumbling under his breath, Gerolf was quick to climb back down to his turret and resume firing in hopes that the barbarians would retreat, but he was suddenly interrupted by a loud hiss as his cannon abruptly stopped working mid-stream. He tried to restart the weapon a couple of times, but to no avail.

"The boiler's running on fumes, commander!" Konigswald, Gerolf's loader, shouted up at his commander from the tight confines of the _Starklanze._ A second later, the tank's main gun exploded, launching a high-explosive shell to the front of the enemy formation and utterly obliterating those caught in its radius as it detonated. "We're going to have to disembark and refuel it soon!"

"I know that, damn it!" Gerolf climbed down and closed the hatch as he went. "Bloody hell — where's a bright wizard when you need one?"

As the steam tank's crew squirmed about their stations to carry out their orders, Gerolf shuffled himself to peer over the portholes to the side of the war machine. There, he saw the _Starklanze's_ infantry escorts shouting in alarm and bracing themselves to receive an attack from a well-equipped free folk band four times the size of their formation.

Snarling, the Imperial engineer looked behind his shoulder to Ogramm, the _Starklanze_ 's umgdawi driver. "The barbarians are closing in, dwarf! We're going to have to take the brunt of this attack!"

Ogramm pushed a lever hanging over his head, causing the steam tank to let loose its distinctive battle-horn. "I hope you know what you're doing, manling!"

"Shut up and move this bloody thing. Do it now!"

"Aye, sir!" The Imperial dwarf did as he was told, and soon, the steam tank was ahead of its state troop escorts and alone in the snowy field, about to be swarmed by more than enough free folk raiders to make up an Imperial State battalion.

"Prepare yourselves, men!" Gerolf ignored the defeaning cries of incoming barbarians outside as he put on his safety goggles. "Remember your training! Secure your weapons and make ready to disembark shortly!"

"Understood!" Konigswald opened a crate full of supplies and blackpowder arms and began tossing a weapon for each of the steam tank's crew to take, with the exception of the dwarfen driver. A loud thunk from the side of the vehicle's hull shook him a bit, but he was quick to resume his duty. "Would be nice to have demigryph support right about now!"

"A few mortars and volley guns would do fine, lad!" Ogramm shifted the tank to face the approaching wave of raiders. "There's little need to get those foppish Reikland chicken-tamers involved!"

Gerolf loaded new shot and powder into his blunderbuss before propping it up by the hull. "Sorry to dash your hopes, but we'll receive nothing in the way of aid. Our job is to hold this front until the main force can carve their way to Emperor Franz's position, and by Sigmar, we won't fail them!"

Not one man in his crew objected to that, as was proper. There, in the cramped and poorly-insulated compartments of their steam tank, Gerolf and his crew continued on with their duties up until the enemy had advanced within spitting distance, threatening to swarm the vehicle and overwhelm its exposed infantry escorts.

"Loaded! Loaded!" Konigswald declared after feeding another shell inside the main gun.

"Fire for effect!" Gerolf shouted back.

Hoffman, the gunner, looked down the cannon using his periscope, sighted the largest concentration of free folk warriors, took his measurements and aimed, then opened fire. His explosive shot struck true, and blew another hole in the enemy ranks in a visceral display of fire, dirt, snow, and gore.

This did not prove enough to disperse the better-disciplined free folk horde, however. They continued to pour in and quickly surrounded the _Starklanze_ , and those who chose to run past the steam tank were quick to engage its vastly outnumbered state troop escorts in brutal hand-to-hand combat.

Amidst the clanging and banging of free folk weapons all around the tank, Gerolf's voice could barely be heard, forcing him to shout out,

"USE UP THE LAST OF OUR STEAM! DRIVER, PREPARE THE VENTS!"

Teeth grit, Ogramm pulled some levers and twisted a few knobs from his seat before he shifted the _Starklanze_ forward, ramming the vehicle into the enemy and running anyone slow or unfortunate enough to stand in the way. The umgdawi engineer was cackling madly as he yelled,

"SHE'S READY TO VENT, SIR!"

Once again, Gerolf looked into the porthole to look into the status of his escorts, only to be forced to close it shut by a hail of bronze arrows. Deciding that the enemy had clustered enough and that the time for waiting is over, Gerolf ordered,

"CLEAR OUR PATH! HOSE DOWN THESE HEATHENS!"

The free folk warriors surrounding the _Starklanze_ continued to wail against the vehicle, slamming and smashing their weapons ineffectively against its hull in the vain hope of eventually breaching its ironclad defences. They continued futilely attacking the war machine even as the small metallic plates built into its sides slid apart, and by the time they felt the temperature shifting, it was already too late.

Upon seeing droves of their foes being swamped and eventually driven back by fast-moving clouds of steam and showers of blistering water, the beleaguered state troops on the ground cheered and laughed even as they tried to hold the rest of the free folk horde back. With their spirits restored, the Ostlanders held fast, and with the space around their vehicle cleared, the steam tank's crewmen were free to execute their next set of defensive manoeuvres.

"It's time! Driver, you know the drill! Grab a bag of coal and head over to the boiler!" Gerolf shouldered his blunderbuss and made sure his sword was secured in its sheath by his hip. He briefly considered putting on his suit of half-plate armour, but decided against it. "Loader, gunner, follow the dwarf and keep him safe! Come on, let's get this over with as quick as we can!"

One by one, the entire crew of the _Starklanze_ climbed out of their vehicle, much to the shock of the gathered barbarian raiders surrounding it. The savages were quick to get over their surprise, however, and immediately tried to attack the exposed Imperial engineers. Unfortunately for them, the Ostlanders they were already locked in combat with were just as quick to seize the moment.

"Protect the tank! At them, lads!" One captain rallied his men. Together, they began to push the enemy back. "For Sigmar, and for Ostland! Kill them! KILL THEM ALL!"

The rest of the Imperials were quick to follow their example. "FOR SIGMAR! FOR OSTLAND! KILL! THEM! ALL!"

With the name of their gods and their beloved province from their lips, the state troopers surged up and easily took the ground most of the savages were forced to withdraw from earlier, forming a ring of swords, halberds, handguns and shields around Gerolf's crew and protecting them from being rushed by the enemy.

"Bloody manlings, KEEP ME COVERED!" Ogramm screamed in his guttural Zhufbar brogue after an arrow bounced off the side of his helmet and nearly made him topple over. The Imperial dwarf scowled in anger at sight of the multitude of dents and scratches now decorating the _Starklanze_ 's external boiler, but he was able to temper his rage long enough to shove a bag of coal down the machine, providing the tank with enough fuel to keep it operational for another few hours. "She's ready to move again, dawri! Let's get the hell back inside, now!"

Konigswald helped a downed halberdier back up to his feet and quickly shot a charging free folk warrior in the head as she approached. When he looked over his shoulder to Ogramm and the newly-refilled boiler, he sighed in relief. "Herr Schnyder! The _'Lanze_ is prepared to move again!"

Gerolf fired off a blunderbuss shot into a clustered group of raiders before looking down on his crew. "Then what are you waiting for — Geheimnisnacht? Get back in the tank, you idiots! Move it, move it!"

The tank commander kept shooting his blunderbuss into the mass of free folk warriors until his crew had successfully climbed back down into the _Starklanze_ and returned to their stations. He was about to return to manning his turret, when an arrow speared him through the gut and very nearly sent him tumbling down over the side of his vehicle. Chiding himself for not wearing armour when he had the chance, Gerolf leaned on his blunderbuss for support as he pulled himself up to his knees and crudely pulled out the arrow sticking out of his body.

"Haarh..." Gerolf was gasping and blood seeped out of his wound as he slowly climbed down, re-manning his steam turret. "Konigswald... Hoffman... fire at will. Driver, run these bastards... down!"

"Commander! Are you alright?" Konigswald shouted from inside the tank.

"Just do what you're told, damn you!" Gerolf screamed over the hydraulic whines of his cannon. A second later, Ogramm finally got the steam tank moving again, and he wasted no time ramming it into the enemy. "Leave none of these bastards alive!"

The _Starklanze_ 's main gun, as though on cue, shouted its fury once more, obliterating scores of the raiders in a defeaning blast of fire and shrapnel.

Minutes passed as the skirmish raged on. Through heavy casualties, munitions shortages, and exhaustion, the Imperial State force fought onward, and eventually, sent their attackers screaming and shouting back into the woods. Gerolf was in the middle of regrouping with his escorts while medics tended to his wounds, when a small group of Reiklander state troops appeared in the horizon, led by none other than Wolfhard Richter, the templar.

"Hail, witch hunter!" Konigswald greeted Richter from the top of the _Starklanze_. Gerolf kept silent on the ground and tried not to scream as Hoffman, just as silent, applied alcohol into his chest wound.

"Greetings." As his group approached the Ostlanders, Richter nodded and whistled to himself. His eyes scanned the battlefield, which was littered with an absurd amount of dead free folk warriors, at least, in comparison to the small size of the state trooper detachment posted there. "Wow. It's a shame we arrived too late to help. You people look like you've seen much more than your share of battle."

Gerolf hissed through the pain. He reached out, snatched Hoffman's bottle, and took a big swig out of it. "Nnggh-ah." He wiped his mouth, grimacing as he did. "You've new orders for us, templar? We held this frozen shithole as best as we could and made those barbaric heathens pay dearly for each soldier killed."

"I can see that." Richter nodded. "And yes, I came here to tell you that Captain Eisenstein wants your men recalled to the front. The last time I was there, the outriders already sighted Emperor Franz, Lord Starke and Queen Katarina. We've yet to take them to safety, however."

Gerolf stood up tried to hide his pain as Hoffman began crudely applying bandages to his chest. "Jawohl, mein Herr. I'll have the tank relocated there as soon as possible."

* * *

 **RYKKER**

"A griffin! By the gods, ser, these bastards have a fucking GRIFFIN in their army!"

"For the last time, Kevven, I STILL HAVE EYES." Ser Jaremy Rykker shook his subordinate by the shoulders before shoving him away and turning back to the road ahead — a path littered with dismembered wildling corpses. "Now shut up, keep marching! We still have a dead lord to find!"

The black brothers continued marching onward, following the trail of bodies where the main Imperial force must be. As they ambled forth, a handful of Imperial soldiers shambled their way, carrying their dead or wounded comrades away from the front.

"Things are never going to be the same," Will mumbled, his eyes downcast. "Not for us... not for the wildlings... not for the south."

"The Watch shoulders on. Our duty remains regardless of what happens in the next few weeks." Rykker said, partially to himself. "Think of this as a unique opportunity — if these foreigners do manage to defeat Rayder and his forces, then defending the Wall would be much safer and easier than before."

"Hm. I'm not sure if I wanted that to happen." Karne said. "Is this not our purpose as men of the Watch — to keep wildlings from going south of the Wall? If the wildlings stopped raiding altogether, then what use do we still have? We'd be useless without them."

Rykker knew full well of the implications of an Imperial victory over the free folk, and just like the rest of his men, it terrified him. "Cease this pointless chatter. Keep marching."

Karne rolled his eyes and fell back in line.

Soon, Rykker and his rangers encountered more and more state troopers and Imperial knights standing guard by the path and tending to their wounded. As more obvious signs of battle became much more prevalent and the smell of burning wood and gunpowder became harder to ignore, Rykker ordered everyone to draw their weapons and prepare their shields once more.

"This is starting to feel more and more like Robert's Rebellion," One of the veteran rangers grumbled as he looked to the battered Imperial soldiers loitering about, and the devastation all around them. "...question is, are we on the right side of the war this time around?"

Rykker silently pondered on the question. He was about to speak his mind, when the rumbling of a fast-approaching Imperial war machine forced him to cut his line of thinking short, and shout for his men to break formation, to move over to the side of the road. "Go! Get out of here!"

Followed closely behind by a small formation of state troopers in black and white uniforms and livery, an Ostlander Imperial steam tank drove past the black brothers and their Reiklander comrades. The monstrous, pitiless construct of steel, bronze and gold stopped for a short while to fire a shell and a burst of steam into the distant woods before continuing onward.

Rykker waited for the abominable machine and its escorts to move out of sight before ordering his rangers to move back in formation. He stood up and moved to take his place in front of his men, when he was greeted by the sight of Wolfhard Richter and his soldiers, who looked to be following the steam tank's trail.

"Ah, Ser Jaremy." Wolfhard hailed the veteran ranger amiably enough. The gash on his face had stopped bleeding, as Rykker noted. "On your way to the front? Come and march with us, then."

Knowing that he really had no choice but to obey, Rykker ordered his men to fall in next to Wolfhard's state troops as they walked. "If we do manage to find this emperor of yours, what then? Are we allowed to leave?" He asked the witch hunter.

Wolfhard shrugged. "That, my friend, will be up to—"

The distinctive, ear-piercing shriek of a griffin's call drowned out the rest of what Wolfhard said. Rykker and his men looked to the skies, and sure enough, it was there. As he watched the great beast darting through the air and circling around his men, Rykker thought it was like seeing House Connington's coat-of-arms coming to life.

"That's Deathclaw. Quite the majestic creature, is he not?" Wolfhard smiled at the look of awe and wonder Rykker was sporting. "Emperor Franz's personal mount... though I wonder, what is he doing up there?"

"PLATZ MACHEN!"

Startled by the ragged shout, Rykker set his gaze to level with horizon once more. He was about to ask his men if they heard call too, when all of the sudden, a massive, uncharacteristically disorganised horde of mixed-province state troops, knights both mounted and on foot, demigryph riders and even warrior priests appeared over the forested horizon, constantly shouting and screaming warnings in Reikspiel.

"ARTILLERIE!"

"RÜCKZUG! IN DECKUNG GEHEN!"

"SCHNELL! ARTILLERIESCHLAG ANKOMMEND!"

Their shouting had an instantaneous effect on the battle-weary Imperials scattered near Rykker and his men. Those standing guard immediately sheathed their weapons and began running back down the trail as fast as their legs could take them, and those tending to the injured did what they can for their disabled comrades before joining everyone else in their frenzied rush away from the front.

"By the Seven — what the fuck is going on?" Will asked out loud as state troops in Reikland, Ostland, and Middenland uniforms hurried past him and his brothers.

Rykker grimaced. Seeing the Imperials in full retreat was certainly a disconcerting sight. "Richter... what's happening here? What are your people running from?"

Face pale and eyes wide, Wolfhard all but ignored Rykker as he turned to his soldiers. The witch hunter shouted a string of guttural, rapid-fire Reikspiel that caused his men to immediately break formation and begin withdrawing from the area. Wolfhard certainly looked like he was about to join them, when Rykker lunged at him and held him by the shoulders.

"Richter!" Rykker screamed into his face. "Seven hells — tell us what's going on!"

Like a trapped weasel, the witch hunter quickly squirmed out of the ranger's grasp. "Are you fucking daft? Run! Get the hell out of here, dammit! They're shelling this entire patch of the woods!"

"Shelling? What—"

Wolfhard turned and bolted off. Rykker uttered a curse and ran after him, followed by his men. When nothing catastrophic happened after a while, Rykker thought a joke must have been played on him... at least until a series of massive explosions rocked the woods in the distance behind him.

Will stopped running to turn to his side and look behind him. Upon seeing the explosions rapidly stitching the ground straight toward their position, he was quick to rectify his mistake. "Shite, shite, shite, SHITE! FUCKING _RUN!_ "

The mad dash to safety was a brief, but taxing affair on both the body and the mind. Rykker had his fair share of battles, but nothing he ever experienced in King Aerys' war with Robert Baratheon could prepare him for this. When the shelling finally abated, the patch of the woods the black brothers used to stand on was now littered with craters, dismembered wildling bodies lay scattered all around, and what little amount of trees that remained upright could be seen engulfed in flames.

"Coren... Marthew Backbite... Littlepecker... Karne of Hightower..." Rykker struggled to catch his breath as he checked to see if all of his rangers made it. "Edam Astwyck... Will... Bug-Eye Rickard... Myles..."

More Imperial soldiers emerged from the smoke to regroup. Each of them looked haggard and bloody, evidence to their battle-weary states. They seemed in relatively good spirits, however — some were even smiling and laughing together.

Will finished heaving the contents of his stomach into the snow. Groaning, he stood straight, looked to the flattened path up ahead, and near-instantly found himself lifted up in the air, encased up to the neck by a dark and ephemeral substance that seemed to materialise from his own shadow.

"By the gods!" Rykker stumbled back in shock and fear. "What—"

One by one, each of the black brothers rapidly met with the same fate. Rykker's teeth chattered together as he struggled against the cold and shadowy coffin he was suddenly confined in. He was about to shout for help, when he noticed that none of his Imperial "allies" were affected by this foul sorcery he and his rangers were subjected to, nor did they seem very alarmed.

"Choose your next words with exceptional care, stranger."

Rykker looked down, at the source of the voice. He was then greeted with the sight of a lord in a full suit of master-crafted plate armour lathered thickly with blood, his gauntleted hands clasping the grip and the length of an ornate two-hander sword. Beside him, an old man in grey robes with a grotesque staff strapped to his back had his arms in the air, chanting incantations in an unknown, eldritch tongue.

"Explain yourselves," The armoured lord demanded, his Imperial-accented voice reverbed harshly thanks to his greathelm. Rykker swore he could see some sort of light coming from inside it. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

With no small amount of effort, Rykker pulled one of his arms free. He was about to answer the man, when Karne suddenly hit the ground, having somehow managed to free himself from the constricting shadows.

The old ranger pulled himself up to stand. He looked like he was about to try and make a break for safety, when several spikes of ice whizzed past mere inches from his body, imbedding themselves deeply into the trunk of a nearby tree.

"One more step, outsider, and you're dead." Rykker turned his head and was regarded with the sight of a raven-haired woman. Regal and undoubtedly beautiful, she wielded a staff of ever-shifting ice in one gloved hand, while the other, gauntleted one channelled some sort of spell. "Tell us what we want to know, and we will consider if you deserve to keep your lives."

Rykker gasped in pain as his shadow-jacket's grip suddenly tightened. He sighed in relief when it loosened almost immediately, giving him the opportunity to speak.

"I am... Ser Jaremy Rykker of the Night's Watch!" Rykker couldn't talk quickly enough. "My rangers were sent to... agh! Scout this place!"

The armoured lord turned to look at Rykker once more. "Sent by who, and for what purpose?"

The veteran ranger tried to pull his other arm free, but to no avail. Perhaps sensing his struggle, the old wizard tightened his hold on Rykker for a second time. "Hargh! Ugh... Lord Commander Jeor Mormont! We know Rayder's planning something, and he wants to know if the wildlings are planning to— hrmph! Take the Wall by force and start pillaging the south! I swear by the fucking Seven, stranger, we have no idea there's more than just Rayder's folks out here!"

The second the last word left his mouth, the dark pressure all around Rykker abated, then disappeared altogether. He and his men were then unceremoniously dropped to the ground, with only the snow to break their fall.

"If what you say is true, Ser Rykker of the Night's Watch, then we do not have quarrel with you." The armoured lord said as he sheathed his greatsword and strode over to the veteran ranger, with a slight, barely noticable limp to his gait. He bent down and reached out with his gauntleted hand. "Not today, at the least."

More than a little hesitantly, Rykker accepted the offered hand. The lord's grip was crushingly strong, and when he pulled the ranger up, Rykker was afraid he'd dislocate his arm. Now that he was up on his feet and up close to the man, Rykker openly gaped at how dwarfed he was by the lord standing in front of him. He was immediately reminded of the Clegane brothers, and how utterly fierce they were during the Sack of King's Landing.

This one must be their long lost, eldest bastard brother.

"Th-thank you for sparing us, ser." Rykker managed to find his voice, bowing slightly. "The lord commander will—"

"He will either stay behind this Wall of his and leave us to wage war on his foes, or he will do the sensible thing, and send more of your kind to assist us when the time comes for Mance Rayder to die in battle." The lord curtly interrupted, his nonchalant tone quickly shifting to a steely, deadly-serious one.

"If your lord commander proves to be foolish enough to mistake the Empire for another group of barbarians to be put down and contained, however, then I am charging _you_ to do the sensible thing — convince him of the grave error he is about to commit, and save his life. Save your comrades' lives..."

He leaned in closely, close enough for Rykker to see the blue light wafting from his helm's eye-sockets. "...and save _yourself_."

The black brother had no choice but to obey. "Y-yes. Anything you desire, my lord."

"I do not forget who my enemies are, ser knight. Cross me, and you forfeit your lives."

* * *

 **WOLFHARD**

 _"—let the banners sway and flutter, we yearn to attack and lay siege, freely as the state troops do!"_ As one, the victorious Imperial soldiers chanted a jolly marching song as they walked back to the home they had made. _"Let the vanguard march, advance forth! Let them taste the rush of battle_ — _and spill blood as He wills them to!"_

 _Sigmar take their voices,_ Wolfhard's expression was thoroughly sour compared to everyone else's, however. He never liked this song's unoriginal, rather simpleminded verses.

"That went well, didn't it, templar?" Gisele Weiss matched her pace with Wolfhard's.

The witch hunter swivelled his head to stare at the state sergeant, his face scrunched up in annoyance. "What the devil are you talking about, Weiss?"

"Why, the mission to find and escort Emperor Franz, Queen Bokha, and Magister Lord Starke back to safety, of course." Gisele deadpanned, a smile tugging at her lips. "Don't tell me you've up and forgotten all about what happened today already."

As he advanced along the beaten path with the others, Wolfhard looked up to the skies. There, he could see Emperor Franz as he made his way back to New Praag on Deathclaw's saddle, along with Queen Katarina. Although weary and slightly wounded, the emperor should be ready to lead his people once more after a short period of recovery.

" _We'll climb their walls and towers_ — _cast down their gods and temples, then storm into their castle halls. Whoever_ _tries to fight and stop us, will break on our shields and rout; they'll come to fear the griffon's roar!"_

The witch hunter looked back down, nodding. "It's all in a day's work, Weiss... though I could use a little less of this dreadful singing. I might even consider drinking that Bretonnian swill of yours just to drown these noises out."

Gisele Weiss pulled down her scarves and huffed a laugh. "Let's not go into that again, Wolfhard. Bretonnian beer might as well be considered no better than swill, but their wines cannot be matched — doubly so for those made in Bordeleaux vineyards."

Wolfhard rolled his eyes; Gisele's fascination with Bretonnia was almost disturbing — it was as though she was born there. He opened his mouth to speak, a witty retort at the tip of his tongue, when he was interrupted by a Reiksguard knight riding up close.

"Aye, that is true." The knight's voice confirmed her identity as Reikscaptain de Brie, surprisingly. "I see that perhaps there is hope for a select, cultured few in the emperor's forces. What is your name, trooper?"

"Sergeant Gisele Weiss of the Reikwald Redstream Infantry Regiment, lady knight." Gisele answered forthrightly. "Emperor Franz assigned me to Eloise von Mannstedt's retinue, to assist with overseeing the Norscan and free folk prisoners in the dungeon."

"I see." The Reiksguard captain nodded her helmed head. "Well, sergeant, if you're not opposed to opening a cask of my personal vintage from Brionne with a couple of other knights, do feel free to drop by the Reiksguard's barracks later today. It's not from Bordeleaux, but it's a start."

Gisele made a show of putting a hand to her chin in consideration, then looked to Wolfhard. "You and your sister wouldn't mind if I..."

Wolfhard rolled his eyes, feigning displeasure. "Yes, yes, you have our permission. At least try not to come to work on the morrow with a hangover, alright? I'm supposed to keep you presentable for Eloise, you know."

"I promise not to overindulge, Herr Richter." The state sergeant grinned at him slightly. Wolfhard wondered if her canines were always so angular and pointed.

"You have my thanks, witch hunter." Knight-Captain de Brie lifted her visor in salute to Wolfhard, before looking down at Gisele. Wolfhard couldn't help but notice the peculiar shine to her eyes. As she began to leave, de Brie pulled her visor back down. "Send my regards to Lady von Mannstedt and her Black Guard friend for me, would you?"

The witch hunter and the state sergeant watched the mounted knight trot off to rejoin her formation, loose as it was.

" _Close ranks, all you knights and state troops_ — _strike while our foes quake and waver! Shoulder to shoulder, our courage shall never waver! And for every man who should fall, five more shall heed the Empire's call!"_

"By the gods." Wolfhard rubbed his ears as the singing became louder and rowdier. "I can't stand this, Weiss. I'm moving up ahead; to scout, or something. Anything, really."

The state sergeant smirked as she crossed her arms. "Well then, in that case, I'll have to take it upon myself to make sure you don't run into trouble. Your sister would not be too pleased to hear that you've been taken by free folk marauders because you walked off into the woods by yourself."

"Arguing with you is pointless." The witch hunter grumbled. "Let's go."

The Imperial State force's march to New Praag lasted all the way until the afternoon, all while Wolfhard and Gisele lead the way. Contrary to the sergeant's fears, the path seemed clear of any dangers and nothing appeared out of the ordinary... at least until they reached New Praag itself.

There, standing just in front of the settlement's main gates, Wolfhard was puzzled to see the guard posts empty and unmanned, leaving New Praag wide open to a frontal assault.

"Where is everyone?" Gisele looked around, eyes narrowed. "Strange. The sentries should have hailed us a minute ago."

Wolfhard grimaced. He took a step forward to examine the area closer, when suddenly, a lithe profile pushed past him from behind as it bounded onward in unnaturally quick strides. After regaining some of his balance, Wolfhard turned to see Emperor Franz's wood elf retainer swiftly making her way to New Praag's gates, her intent unknown.

"What the— where did that bloody elf come from?" Gisele helped Wolfhard steady himself. "And whatever could she up to?"

Wolfhard observed the waystalker in the distance as she effortlessly scaled the walls before jumping over to the other side. "I don't know, but I'd like to find out. Follow me."

Gisele nodded. "Let's get moving."

The witch hunter and his companion carefully approached the gates. As they neared, Wolfhard saw no signs of struggle that could indicate that the guards were removed from their posts by force. The area was neat, relatively free of debris, and the air was clean — not even the smell of blackpowder smoke lingered. In fact, the cup of tea placed carefully on top of a crate of rations was still steaming and warm to the touch.

"What could have happened here...?" Wolfhard thought out loud. He checked his handgun and the pistols in his coat before moving over to see if the gates were unlocked. He grumbled in disappointment at what he discovered. "Sigmar's teeth. Locked."

Gisele removed a pin from her hair. "Let me."

"Why am I not surprised?" Wolfhard smirked as he shuffled to the side and let Gisele work on the locks.

"Hey, just because I'm from the Altdorf commons doesn't mean I automatically know how to pick a lock." She protested as she worked. "I had to learn how prisoners break out of their cells as part of my training, you know."

Within another few seconds, she was done. Much to her bemusement, Wolfhard gave her a pat on the head like one would a dog's, before pushing the gates open and casually walking in. He was promptly rewarded with an elven blade pressed against his throat.

"Witch hunter." The waystalker, realising who she almost killed, quickly retracted her sword. "You should not be here."

"Oh? And why is that, elf?" Wolfhard put his hands to his hip and leaned slightly forward.

"Look down. Do you see these footsteps on the snow, mixed with the ones your kind made?"

Wolfhard narrowed his eyes in suspicion. He looked down, then back up. "What are you talking about? All these footsteps look the same."

The elven ranger shook her head. "No. Bend down, look closer."

"She's right, Wolfhard." Gisele pitched in. "These do not look like state troops made them, or humans for that matter. They look so small... and faint. Almost invisible to the untrained eye."

Wolfhard gave Gisele a look of disbelief and incredulity. Against his better judgement, the witch hunter did as he was told and looked closer. "Hmm. It looks like you're right, Weiss."

Something clicked at the back of his mind as Wolfhard examined the tracks even closer. "These..." He stood up and looked to Gisele, eyes wide and mouth quivering. "...these look like they're made by—"

"My kind." The waystalker finished for him, nodding. "I can sense their presence — deepwood pathfinders and scouts, rangers of the wildwood, spellsingers and warhawk riders... even waywatchers _._ Suffice it to say that the asrai are here, and they come in force."

"By the gods." Wolfhard gritted his teeth. Wood elves do not make for the friendliest folk, and their presence in New Praag was likely to complicate things and incite more conflict at a time already rife with chaos and hostile tensions. "What could they be doing here?"

"We'll find out soon enough, human." The waystalker turned to the side. "Come, it has been far too long since I met with my kinsmen; I believe we have much to discuss."

"My, my. Did you just invite us to walk with you, elf?" Wolfhard arched a brow, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "I had thought—"

The elf let out an unladylike snort of derision before striding off, further into the settlement.

"Quite the charmer, aren't you, mein Herr?" Gisele chuckled at Wolfhard's expense. "I think you should be grateful the elf didn't kill you where you stood."

Now smiling, Wolfhard just shook his head at her. "Come on, you. Let's find out why — and how — the leaf-eared, tree-hugging isolationists are here, so far away from that magical forest of theirs."

Trailing after the waystalker, Wolfhard and Gisele managed to reach the town centre in a matter of minutes. There, they found a rather sizeable band of heavily-armed wood elves in the middle of a heated argument with an equal amount of Imperials.

"Abominable mayflies! Your foolish meanderings with the Winds of Magic diverted our cause!" One of the elves shouted in thickly-accented Reikspiel. "Our prey was within our reach, but you have taken our opportunity from us!"

"We have done no such thing!" One of the Imperials, a rather high-ranking celestial wizard, declared. "Your presence here is your own doing!"

"Hold your vile tongue, wastrel mage! We were in the middle of tracking a deserter taking refuge at the heart of your wretched Empire, when we felt the Winds shifting uncontrollably... just before our sudden and unexpected arrival here! There could be no other culprit but the damnable humans living all around us, like corrupted weeds!"

"You dare to insult us here, elf? After we allowed you entrance when we had no reason to? As our _guests_?"

"We owe you nothing, churlish mayfly!" The apparent, black-eyed leader of these elves — a highborn glade lord from the looks of his fur-trimmed, elegantly-crafted armour, his imposing stance, and his regal bearing — took several steps forward. In his hands was an ornate glaive, drawn from his back and all too ready to taste Imperial blood. "Such insolence to assume that we would be indebted to the Empire for allowing us entry — know that we came here to seek answers, not shelter!"

"ALRIGHT, LISTEN TO ME, YOU KNIFE-EARED PIECE OF SHIT!" Grudge-raker loaded and proudly displayed, one of Okrundsson's dwarf rangers boldly attempted to place himself in the glade lord's path. "IF YOU GO ANY FURTHER—"

"By Isha, more dwarfs!" Another of the elves exclaimed and hastily nocked an arrow on her longbow. "A pox upon your miserable kind! Defilers, murderers and thieves, all of you!"

The wood elves were already quite hostile. At the sight of the dwarfs, each and every one of them unsheathed their blades, drew their bows and prepared to cast spells. Sneering and scowling in anger, they looked just about ready to charge into battle at the slightest provocation.

"Bloody hell." Wolfhard muttered under a breath. He unslung his repeater handgun and motioned Gisele to follow him closely as they moved in closer, careful not to attract undue attention. "The situation is starting to look worse and worse."

"You don't say." Gisele snarked through her grit teeth, longsword held at the ready.

Meanwhile, the glade lord visibly recoiled in disgust at the sight of Okrundsson and his crew. "Ignorant, diminutive, uncouth fiends! I should string you up by your filthy beards and let the hawks peck out your eyes! If I was asked if there are creatures almost as monstrous and wretched as the beastmen, I need only look to you, avaricious, grudge-mongering beardlings!"

The dwarfs were silent as stone, but looked deeply affronted. Okrundsson himself seemed about to burst in his fury. "You poncy, goat-fondling, elven bastard! Dishonourable fop! Tree-worshipping tosser! I'm not even going to bother writing down this bloody grudge — I'll settle it right here, RIGHT NOW!"

Angry cheers erupted among the dwarfs, and even some of the Imperials. Okrundsson grinned in triumph, but he did not let up. "Come, drengbarazi, draw your guns and your axes! We must not let this slight upon our honour stand unavenged! Come, men of the Empire! Help us settle this grievous offence! TODAY, LET US ALL SHOW THESE POLE-PROPORTIONED DENDROPHILES HOW WE DO THINGS OUT HERE IN—"

"Dwarf! That is enough! All of you — ENOUGH!"

Wolfhard stood sharply to attention at the sound of Emperor Franz's voice. He stopped skulking and turned his head to see his imperial majesty slowly moving toward the glade lord, still in his full suit of bloodied gromril armour and flanked by Balthasar Gelt, Ludwig Schwarzhelm, and a small cadre of Reiksguards.

"Thank Lileath. Finally." The glade lord put his glaive away and crossed his arms as he awaited Franz's arrival. "You are the lord in charge of this place, yes? You are the only mayfly in this... hive of disgusting insects important enough to seek out!"

"I apologise if our settlement does not have enough trees to your liking, elf." The emperor said, his voice taking on the same patronising tone the glade lord had, laced with plenty of venom. "And I also apologise for the behaviour of my soldiers — they do not take too kindly to elves who disregard the sacred law of hospitality, like the barbarians they are."

"Spare me your insolent tongue, and do not presume we are still bound by the traditions our Ulthuani cousins still pay lip service to!" The glade lord barked. "Now, tell us what we want to know, and we will leave peaceably and without further trouble."

"What manner of knowledge could you possibly want from us?" Franz said, clenching and unclenching his gauntlets. Wolfhard noticed that he seemed eager to fight — come to think of it, Franz seemed to always take the opportunity to dirty his hands with the blood of his foes more and more lately. "And what makes you think I will relinquish it to you, after you've so thoroughly disrespected us so?"

The wood elven lordling narrowed his eyes into slits. "You will tell how we came to be here, in exchange for information about this deserter we seek, whom had taken three of your "Reiksguard" knights as her pawns." At Franz's visible surprise, the glade lord smirked and pressed on. "Need I tell you that this traitor had also taken the two human children the knights seem to be previously escorting as her own captives? How much do you value this information, mayfly?"

At this, the emperor seemed to calm down. He stood straighter, and stopped balling his hands into fists. "This... warrants investigation. Fine. Listen closely, elf — I will _not_ repeat myself when discussing this infuriating subject."

The glade lord turned behind his shoulder and ordered his men to put their weapons away and stand down. He directed his gaze back to Franz in short order. "What are you waiting for? Speak."

The emperor took a deep breath. "If I had to guess, you and your warriors arrived here as the result of the will of your gods... just like us. We do not know why, in your case — but as for ours, Lileath seems to have incorporated us as a part of her plans for this accursed new world we've found ourselves confined in. We wanted no part in it, but here we are... trapped in this godsforsaken, frozen woodland hellscape."

There were disbelieving gasps and murmurs all among the disorganised ranks of the wood elves. The glade lord himself seemed deeply intrigued by this information. "A new world... truly? I had thought we've only been taken somewhere north, to the Chaos wastes. If it's Lileath's will, however, then so be it. We will await her word, should she reveal herself to us."

"I have held the end of my bargain, elf. Now tell us about this deserter of yours." The emperor demanded.

The glade lord nodded. "As you wish. She was one of ours, once. A waywatcher of one of the kindreds of Arahai, in service to Lord Findol of Wydrioth. That was, until she strayed too far from her post and wandered into Modryn. There, she witnessed—"

"Excuse me, my lord," Suddenly, one of the state troops walked forward, into the open. "Forgive me for cutting in, but... did this waywatcher of yours go by the name of Kerillian, by any chance?"

"You! How DARE you interrupt—" As the state trooper's words begun to sink in, the glade lord appeared very surprised for just the most fleeting of seconds. "Yes... how in the name of Lileath did you..."

The elf shook his head, eyes closed. When he reopened them, a calm look of indifference graced his elegant features. "Ah. I recognise you. You are Markus Kruber, correct? The Imperial mercenary who once accompanied our rogue waywatcher."

"I work for the state now, as a captain." Captain Kruber corrected the asrai lordling, a little sheepishly. "Well, again, technically."

Franz turned to his man. "Kerillian... I know of that name. I recall offering a wandering asrai waywatcher a reward for her services during that debacle in Ubersreik, along with four others, including yourself."

"That's correct, mein Kaiser." Kruber bowed his head. He kept to himself how Kerillian once said that she did not escape her post in Athel Loren, but was exiled by her kin instead. Something about this glade lord seemed fishy...

The emperor put a gauntlet to the underside of his helm. "If I remember the details correctly, I pressed the Order to elevate the witch hunter to a senior rank more befitting of his skills and experience, I absolved the pyromancer of her crimes and allowed her a position in Thyrus Gormann's retinue. I provided the dwarf with a cart filled with trinkets and gold before he returned to the Karaz Ankor, and I restored your previous rank before you were unjustly reassigned to Ostland. I even allowed you to serve the Empire in a manner that you saw fit."

Supreme Patriarch Gelt, whom had been silent for a while, chuckled wryly. "Naturally, Kruber was drawn to my service as an adjutant. There are no other worthier postings."

"Or more profitable ones..." Wolfhard wrinkled his nose and muttered under his breath as he kept listening in.

"Indeed..." The emperor nodded at the wizard, although rather disinterestedly. "As for our waywatcher, however, she did not even deign to show herself to be rewarded. One Backertag, my spies reported that the elf disappeared to parts unknown; the Empire had completely lost track of her whereabouts then."

He shifted on his feet, returning to level his gaze with the leader of his wood elven guests. "I must wonder, however, why have you brought so many warriors just to hunt down this particular deserter? I know that she is quite skilled for having had taken three of the Empire's most elite knights as her captives — not to mention helping avert a crisis in Ubersreik — but with the amount of expert trackers and assassins in your cohort, it appears as though this Lord Findol of Wydrioth had excessive force in mind."

The glade lord frowned. "Kerillian had already killed many of us before, mayfly — she foiled every attempt on her life. By now, Lord Findol had lost patience, and wanted her to pay for her crimes posthaste. Many of us have answered his call, and our combined might will bring us success."

"Hm, so I see." Franz nodded. "If that's the case, then how did the waywatcher manage to evade you in the first place?"

The elven lordling sneered. "Do not doubt our competence, human. We tracked her down to a footpath near the Reikwald Forest and surrounded her, depriving the traitor any avenues of escape. She was about to be put to justice by our arrows, when your people blundered in and discovered us. Before any of us could react, a flash of light robbed us of our sight... and when we opened our eyes, it was then that we found ourselves here, surrounded by trees, covered in abominable snow, and beset by slack-jawed humans only a little less primitive than most savage greenskin tribes."

The elf bared his teeth, grinding them together occasionally. "The deserter, vile opportunist that she was, used the confusion to slip out and leave us to deal with our attackers. It was a short and bloody skirmish, but by the time we finished the last of the mayfly brutes, the traitor was gone, along with the five Imperials who stumbled upon us so carelessly."

"What happened to them?"

The glade lord called and gestured for one of his scouts to present herself to the emperor. Franz stood his ground and listened as the other elf ambled up and told her story,

"Eight of us managed to find a trail left by Kerillian, and we followed it. Eventually, we found the traitor setting up her camp at the foot of a hill, along with your knights and their young charges. We moved in to apprehend our target, but the waywatcher was too powerful..."

The asrai ranger put up a pained grimace. "She drove us back into the woods, with the unexpected assistance of your knights. You should know that I lost two of my comrades to handgun fire."

Captain Kruber took another few steps forward. "Hold on, but... where is she now, exactly? And why would she manipulate those Reiksguards to protect her and take the kids captive? That doesn't sound like what the Kerillian I know would do."

"We do not know her exact location or her motives. We will be able to track her down easily enough, but I cannot be bothered to speculate on her heinous actions. The only way you will learn the truth is to torture it out of her, but I'm afraid this is not possible. The punishment for desertion and murder is death, and Kerillian would do well to accept her fate."

Kruber frowned at that; for the briefest of moments, he looked ready to shoot the glade lord dead then and there. Fortunately, after a while, the captain turned back to his fellows and disappeared among them.

Emperor Franz offered a few curt words to his men and bid them to disperse, leaving him and his immediate retinue alone with the elves, as well as a few onlookers like Wolfhard and Gisele.

"Our deal, such as it is, is concluded, human." The glade lord dipped his head slightly. "We must depart now. We will attempt to spare the lives of your knights, but we will not hesitate to end them should they prove too troublesome. As for the children, we will send them to this settlement once Kerillian has been dealt with."

"Wait." Franz held out a gauntleted hand. "I will send one of my best rangers to aid you in apprehending your quarry, as well as ensure that no harm comes to the children."

"The asrai have no need for the Empire's assistance," The glade lord immediately replied as he turned around. "Our time is of essence, and lumber-footed humans would only slow us down. Keep your "best", mayfly; my forces would do well enough without your interference."

The emperor let out a dry chuckle. Filtered by his helm, it sounded like an animal's death rattle. "You provided us information that concerns the lives of Imperials and you expect us to do nothing with it? In any case, I have no intention of sending a _human_ ranger." He craned his head to look near Wolfhard and Gisele, where the wood elven waystalker patiently stood her ground. "Aureleth, come. I've a task for you."

The elven lordling's eyes widened at the sight of the waystalker stepping into the open. "Aureleth? You are..." He muttered, voice barely above a whisper. "You are here..."

"Of course, Lord Amryn, where else would I be?" The waystalker confidently strode past the witch hunter and the state sergeant, arms folded across her chest and eyes glaring at her kin. "The queen gave me an order, and I am duty-bound to see it through to the end."

A look of alarm appeared on the glade lord's face. He closed his mouth and pointed at Franz. " _This_ human is Emperor Karl Franz? I... I didn't know... I had thought he was merely another of their petty lords..."

"For an elf, you do not seem very bright, nor observant." The emperor sounded vaguely amused. He looked to the waystalker. "You seem to be familiar with this one, Aureleth. I hope that familiarity extends to cover his tracking methods and battle tactics."

"Lord Amryn is... _was_ one of my old hunting comrades from long ago, before I even began my training as a waywatcher." The waystalker said, in a rather wistful tone. It was quite surprising how quickly her calm and nostalgic voice could harden and turn venomous. "During those years, he was one of those self-indulgent wastrel lordlings who wasted their time hawking and boasting about their worthless hunts, instead of being useful to our people."

Amryn frowned at that. "You describe your past self just as you describe me during my younger years, my lady. Not unlike you, these increasingly darker times have forced me to change... and for the better."

The waystalker glowered at him. If looks alone could cut, Amryn would have been eviscerated. "I do not deny that there was little to differentiate us in the past, but unlike you, it did not take four centuries and the impending death of our world to spur me into action."

The glade lord snarled, "Don't claim to know anything about me, ranger!"

Aureleth ignored him and turned to her charge. "I know of Kerillian — her skills are beyond what one would expect from any waywatcher, and tracking her down will no longer be as easy as Amryn claimed, now that she expects her pursuers to still be looking for her."

The emperor slowly nodded as he digested this information. "So you say. How do you propose we approach this situation, then?"

The waystalker spent a few seconds thinking in silence. "You want my advice? Kerillian is fairly new to the lay of this land, and she should not expect a waystalker of my skill to track her movements from the sky. If one of your shadowmancers can conjure me a hawk made out of—"

"Say no more." Franz raised a hand, interrupting her. "I will give you the means to reach the skies again — but I won't allow you to rely on shadows to do it. Gelt, is your pegasus fed and prepared to take to the air?"

The supreme patriarch did not seem pleased at this. "You cannot be seriously considering turning Quicksilver over to this elf, your majesty. Yes, she is ready, but—"

"Good. I'll have the quartermasters fit it with barding and a new saddle." Franz said. He then turned to his elven protector. "As you can see, Gelt values his mount very much, elf. You may have access to a pegasus for this assignment, but have a care not to have it killed or maimed."

Aureleth nodded respectfully. "I understand, Karl Franz. I'll report back to you as soon as I am able."

"Sigmar guide you, waystalker." Franz, rather unexpectedly, brought his gauntleted fist to his platemailed chest in a salute to the elf, who acknowledged the gesture with a near-imperceptible smile in turn.

Soon, the commotion at the town centre died down as everyone went off to go about their business.

Wolfhard turned to Gisele. "I don't suppose your new Reiksguard friends have room for one more in that clubhouse of theirs?"

The state sergeant smirked. "Let us find out."

* * *

 **THE IMPERIAL NAVY**

Meanwhile, back in the crumbling remains of the Chaos-ravaged Old World, the brave sailors of the Imperial Second Fleet fought on against the Norscans, in the stormy tides of the Sea of Claws. Nordland was long gone, Middenland was in ruins, and Reikland had just been overrun by daemons and their slaves, but Sea Lord Dietrich Steinhäusser and his men swore to keep fighting until the inevitable, bitter end.

Amid the clashing of steel, the barks of sporadic handgun fire, and the crashing of boarding longships onto the hull, more northmen raiders flooded into the deck of Lord Steinhäusser's greatship, the _Schlächter_. His well-drilled and highly-disciplined crew of marines and state troops pushed back wave after wave of these heretic boarding parties time and time again, but more kept coming.

"Everyone, look!" Eyes wide, one of Steinhäusser's standing officers pointed to the roiling seas to the starboard side of the ship. The sea lord just finished kicking down the corpse of a Norscan raider down the quarterdeck, when he turned to look at what the officer was gawking at.

In an instant, Steinhäusser's spirits were lifted at the sight of several fast-approaching ships in the distant seas, all carrying the colours of the Bordeleaux dukedom and sporting sails emblazoned with the Bretonnian Navy's giant fleur-de-lis. Reinforcements had come, and it seemed as though the Second Fleet would last another battle.

With renewed vigour, Lord Steinhäusser twirled the blood-soaked sabre in his hand. He turned to the side and evaded the hand-axe of his Norscan assailant, before taking a step forward and carving a bloody gash on the heretic's chest, sending him staggering backward. The sea lord moved to finish his opponent, when a massive thunderclap assaulted his ears and very nearly robbed him of his hearing.

"Argh! By Ulric!" The sea lord mumbled as blood trickled down his ears. Fortunately, his Norscan opponent fared worse — the barbarian had fallen down a railing and into the raging waters almost immediately.

Cursing up a storm under his breath, Steinhäusser stumbled away from the fight, thoroughly disoriented. When another of the raiders sensed the admiral's weakness and strode over to kill him, he could do nothing but look up at the skies — now visibly writhing with magic.

"Your pathetic gods are dead, Nordlander!" The heretic proclaimed, raising his halberd. "Join them in oblivion! LET THE OLD WORLD BURN!"

Lord Steinhäusser clenched his teeth in cold rage. "You first."

The Norscan realised too late that his quarry was angling a loaded pistol at his throat. The sea lord watched the mortally-wounded raider hobble away, clawing at the new, gushing hole on his neck. The next thing Steinhäusser knew, the skies above the Second Fleet exploded in a massive lightning storm, engulfing the area in jagged arcs of sorcerous electricity so brilliant and bright, so loud and utterly ear-shattering, that damned near everyone was struck both blind, and deaf.

Many hours seemed to pass before Steinhäusser managed to regain the use of his ears. He could hear his men moaning and groaning, stumbling into walls and railings as they did. A few cursed and verbally expressed their frustration at being robbed of some of their senses.

"Sir," A hand gripped Lord Steinhäusser's forearm. He instinctively made to push the person clutching him away. "No, no, calm down, sir! It's Mengelberg! Just Mengelburg, sir!"

Steinhäusser ceased his struggling. He reached for the person's face and felt around it with his gloved hands. "Lieutenant." He barked. "Report. Now."

"W-we've seem to have lost our sight, my lord." Mengelburg, being himself, stated the painfully obvious thing. "What are we going to do, sir?"

The sea lord grit his teeth. He was about to push the lieutenant off of him, when he suddenly felt the rain stop pouring. The temperature also seemed to shift, subtly turning warmer than before. Steinhäusser blinked his unseeing eyes, and in an instant, he could see clearly again.

He frowned upon seeing most of his battle-wearied men stumbling about the deck, blindly swinging their swords and panickedly shooting their guns at the slightest sound. "Stand to, men!" He shouted, causing most of his sailors to stop fidgeting, at the least. "You can hear. Good. Now, can anyone else see?"

"Um, me, sir." One of the younger midshipmen shuffled into sight, behind a pile of smashed crates.

The sea lord squinted at the lad. "Where did all the Norscans and their daemons go?" He asked as he leaned on a railing, then looked to the much calmer waters beyond. "And where did their damnable longboats sailed off to?"

"It's like they all just vanished into thin air, my lord." Lieutenant Mengelburg said. Steinhäusser looked to the man and found him nervously looking around, seemingly having regained his sight. "The Bretonnians are on the horizon, still. Look."

Steinhäusser turned to where Mengelburg was pointing at, and indeed, the Bordeleaux flotilla was still some distance away, though it had since slowed down. Alarmingly, however, he could see one of their "Corsair"-type lineships speeding toward a much smaller frigate.

"Do my eyes play tricks on me, or—" Mengelburg cut himself off upon seeing the Corsair ramming into the frigate's side, almost instantly splitting the unfortunate vessel in half in a shower of wooden splinters and bits of steel. "Oh, shit."

By now, most of the _Schlächter_ 's crew had regained most of their senses. Steinhäusser was already behind the greatship's helm by then, surveying the area around his vessel with a keen, seasoned eye. "I need every man who can see and hear to his station, this instant! Unfurl those sails and tell the rest of the fleet to follow the _Schlächter_!"

At the time someone managed to stagger their way to the mizzen and hoisted a blue flag there to signal the rest of the Second Fleet, the Imperial greatship was already halfway to the Bretonnian flotilla. Once they were close enough, Steinhäusser wasted no time ordering his men to take to the lifeboats and help the Bretonnians in rescuing everyone thrown overboard.

While several of the Bretons inevitably lost their lives, thanks to the combined efforts of the two navies, a fair amount of the bisected frigate's hands were salvaged from the frigid sea. Lord Steinhäusser personally stepped into the Bretonnian flagship's deck to get a closer look on the situation, to the approval of the admiral in charge — a familiar, cocksure face named Reinald du Chastel, otherwise known as the "Fantôme".

"My thanks for your assistance, old friend." Du Chastel patted Steinhäusser on his epauletted shoulder, much to his consternation. "Many lives would've been lost to the sea without you. Thanks to you, they can die properly a little later."

"Respectfully, don't presume to address me as your old friend, admiral." Steinhäusser kept his eyes on the efforts of his men below. "I still remember when we used to exchange broadsides."

"Ah, but that's in the past, is it not? We used to try killing each other as adversaries, now we die together as the world ends... as comrades."

"Hmph." The sea lord wiped his nose. It was getting warmer and warmer by the minute. "I don't suppose you have the slightest clue about what just happened, do you?"

Admiral du Chastel shrugged. "Don't have a clue. Could have been divine intervention from the Lady herself, for all I know. Anyway, may I ask where exactly is your fleet headed?"

"I'm trying to find a way to get my men to Nuln somehow." Steinhäusser said, as he observed his men trying to save a drowning horse. "Now that Altdorf is in ruins, I'm at a loss at where to land."

"Why not try Bordeleaux? We can escort you there, and I'm sure our fair duke has room for your ships in our ports. I just hope you don't mind marching all the way to Wissenland."

Steinhäusser was hoping du Chastel would say that. "That's what we're going to do, then. As soon as we're done here, the Second Fleet will sail after you."

It did not take long for things to go awry. Admiral du Chastel quickly found out that his navigational equipment weren't working properly, and the seas around them seemed much more foreign than before. He expected to sail past a few other flotillas from L'Anguille or Brionne like he did the first time his vessels set sailed, but the waters were completely deserted. The weather was a little different, too.

Meanwhile, Lord Steinhäusser left all navigation to one of his subordinate captains. Instead, he kept still as his surgeon and her orderlies tended to his wounds. The sea lord let his muscles relax as he eased into his seat, and he would have fallen asleep to the feeling of the salt-sea air blowing on his face, if it weren't for a the telltale clanking of knightly sabatons on the wooden deck... accompanied, of course, by smaller, much slighter footsteps.

"Fräulein Gausser," Steinhäusser tried to keep an even tone as he pushed himself up to sit properly. "I trust the battle did not trouble you overmuch?"

"Lord Dietrich, where are we?" A girl not much older than seven and ten and flanked by a pair of Nordlander Imperial knights had asked, rather impatiently. "How close are we to Nuln, now? We shouldn't waste any more time at sea, lest we be intercepted once more."

"Not much further now, my lady. The Bretonnians just offered to let us dock on the Port of Manann." Steinhäusser said. "From there, though, we'll have no choice but to get to Wissenland on foot."

Lady Gausser's young face twisted into an irritated scowl, making her look less like the well-bred heiress that she was, and more like a spoiled burgomeister's daughter. "Surely the horse-lords could provide us with wagons and a few dozens horses to expedite our journey."

Steinhäusser frowned as the noblewoman's expression grew terribly fanciful. "As for myself, the Grand Baron of Nordland's only offspring should settle for nothing less than a mount that can take to the skies. A... pegasus, if you will."

The sea lord had to keep himself from palming his face in dismay. "Ulrike, I—" He cleared his throat. "Meine Fräulein, we should count ourselves fortunate that the Bretonnians even deigned to give us a place in the docks of Bordeleaux. We should take care not to take this gracious offer lightly, and ask for more out of our hosts."

She sighed. "Fine. No wagons or horses for the men, but we simply _must_ negotiate a pegasus for me. One of their lords should be more than happy to earn my favour."

Steinhäusser set his jaw. He was losing patience, and quickly. "A Bretonnian lord would rather die than give his precious flying mount to a noblewoman from the Empire. Your favour would mean nothing to them — nay, less than nothing, now that Nordland is now nothing more than a corrupted hellscape populated by daemons and heretics."

The Second Fleet's sea lord and the Nordland heiress continued to argue and bicker for a while. Steinhäusser closed his eyes as Lady Gausser prepared to throw a tantrum, when the distinctive shriek of a griffon on the hunt caused both of them to stop and look to the skies.

"By Shallya!" Steinhäusser's surgeon exclaimed, her face set in shock. "It's— it's—"

Lord Steinhäusser stood up from his seat and ordered his men to keep steady as a wide-winged, heavily-armoured griffon swooped down from the air and landed right in the middle of the main deck, kicking up a massive cloud of dirt and dust as it did so.

"That's... that's Deathclaw." The sea lord uttered as the noble beast stretched its wings and began glaring at the _Schlächter_ 's crew. His expression remained blank, and his voice remained calm — this was as close as he could get to being shocked out of his wits. "I was under the impression that Karl Franz's mount died in Ostland. It appears I am mistaken."

Everyone else remained silent, too surprised for words.

Deathclaw thundered around the greatship's deck for a minute, sniffing at the floors and raking his talons all over the deck, as though he knew exactly what was hidden further inside the wooden confines of the greatship. The armoured griffon continued like this for a while, before he let out a dissonant roar at Steinhäusser and his company. Lady Gausser, face as pale as snow, quickly fainted as soon as the noble beast flapped his wings and took to the skies once more.

"You. Back down the lower decks. Now." Steinhäusser curtly dismissed his medical team. He then turned to Lady Gausser's bodyguards. "And take my ward back to her quarters. Make sure she doesn't leave this time."

"Uhh, you've new orders for us, my lord?" Lieutenant Mengelberg dared to ask.

The sea lord pushed past his adjutant and looked to the crewmen that had gathered before him. "Everyone, back to your stations! Signal the Bretonnians to either come with us or piss off — to hell with Bordeleaux, we're following that bloody griffon!"

* * *

 **KATARINA**

"—and if the walls should fall, we have these four contingencies to rely on." Emperor Franz pointed at a trio of diagrams on the table among many others, showing various artillery pieces and a specialised formation of repeater handgunners. "The main prospekt should be too narrow for advancing armies, and offers little cover to hide from our guns. It would be suicide to come to us from here."

"And what of our exterior defenses?" Queen Katarina asked, nursing a cup of tea in her hands. It was late in the afternoon, and the only people present in the war room were the two monarchs. Both of them appeared well at ease in the presence of an equal. "We should take every opportunity to whittle down their numbers. I suggest creating a small group of scouts and pathfinders to harry the main free folk horde before they could even commit to a siege on our walls."

"Not to worry, I already have a selection of talented volunteers to do just that." Franz said, faintly smiling.

The tzarina stifled a yawn and looked up to the emperor. "Our plans seem sound, but I grow tired of discussing them all the same. I believe it's time we retire, for now." She stood up from her seat. "It is almost nighttime — I'm in the mood for supper."

Franz put away the diagrams and the written plans and prepared himself to go out in the cold again. "Of course. We'll continue our discussion on the morrow, my queen."

Katarina extended her hand. "Accompany me?"

Franz looked at the Ice Queen's hand, looking a little confused. It was a while until he acknowledged it by hesitantly extending his elbow to her. "By all means."

Katarina put up a rare smile and looped her arm around his. It was amusing to see the normally austere and battle-hardened emperor so flustered and looking every bit like he was out of his element outside a busy court, a command tent, or a battlefield. "Shall we?"

The emperor hesitated for a second. "Yes... let's."

With each passing month, New Praag grew larger and larger. New buildings were constructed from the ground up, and better fortifications were incorporated at key areas of the city on the rise. Therefore, it took the two monarchs a good chunk of the hour to make their way to the Ice Queen's palace, where they were greeted by a cadre of Reiksguards.

"Good evening, your majesties." The lead knight saluted in greeting.

"Anything to report, sir knight?" Franz inquired, out of habit, if anything.

The knight briefly turned his helmed head to his fellows, who shrugged in indifference. He lifted his visor and scratched under his eye. "Well, it could be nothing, mein Kaiser, but we haven't seen Deathclaw return from his patrol. The beast should be roosting at the top of the palace at this time."

"That is indeed strange," Franz slowly nodded. "But, yes, it could be nothing. Deathclaw can more than just handle himself, after all. More than likely he spotted yet another free folk warband preparing to raid us."

The tzarina remained silent.

Had the Reiksguardsman noticed Katarina's arm coiled around Emperor Franz's, he did not deign to bring it up. "I certainly would hate to be in their shoes, then. Griffons leave behind the messiest of corpses." He turned and gestured for his men to make way. "Go on ahead, majesties."

"Stay on your guard, knights." Franz saluted the man and his comrades before quickly heading inside with his fellow monarch.

The gleaming interiors of Tzarina Katarina's self-made ice fortress welcomed the two of them. As always, it was noticeably colder inside, reinforcing the idea that the only person welcome in these crystalline halls was the Ice Queen herself.

Fortunately for Emperor Franz, the Kislevite monarch was willing to be a good host. With a wave of her hand, the chill emanating from the icy walls dissipated — keeping the halls from getting any colder.

"I'll serve us something to eat. Help yourself to the chilled kvas in the dining hall. You know the way." The Ice Queen said, already on the way to the kitchen.

Franz shook his head as he walked after her. "No, I'd rather stay clear-headed tonight. I'll help with preparing our food, instead."

She looked behind her shoulder. "Are you sure?"

He seemed uncomfortable in his surroundings, but he nodded nonetheless. "Yes, I insist."

Together, the two of them worked their way around the Ice Queen's kitchen with the limited ingredients they have. The end results were two servings of spiced salmon, grilled leeks and mushrooms, and a large stew pot filled with rabbit meat and mushrooms.

Of course, everything the tzarina and the emperor just served for their supper were hardly what well-bred nobles considered their standard evening fare, as Katarina herself had thought. _Oh, but how the mighty had fallen..._

"...It's been a while since we dined like this, you might recall." Emperor Franz said, bringing the Ice Queen out of her reverie.

"It was the sixteenth year of my father's reign... and I was under strict orders to become acquainted with the future tzarina of Kislev." He chewed on a leek, his expression was as blank and distant as could be. "I was told it was for the good of houses Bokha and von Holswig-Schliesten, you understand."

Tzarina Katarina thought on that day. "Ah, yes. I remember that." She sampled the salmon. "I also remember hearing my father speak of you as an effete Reiklander prince who spent too much time reading and playing with his pet griffon instead of engaging in more martial pursuits. He "suggested" that I avoid you for the entirety of your stay in Kislev."

"I suspected as such..." Franz smiled at that. "On my end, my father thought you were incapable of speaking for years, thanks to malicious rumour-mongering from a few of his courtiers. For months, he had my tutors teach me how to communicate better with the mute before he ordered me to approach you."

Slyly, the tzarina responded with her typical silence. After a while, the emperor played along. For the better part of an hour, the two allied monarchs enjoyed the companionable quietude that followed as they finished up with their meagre supper.

They hardly expected it, of course, when the Reiksguards outside suddenly barged into the room. "Mein Kaiser!" The lead knight shouted from across the hall. "We have a situation down at the docks! Some of our fishermen bring news from further out the sea — they speak of numerous ships bearing Nordland colours approaching New Praag!"

"What?" Franz immediately stood up. As he did, he managed to hear Deathclaw shrieking in the distance. "The Second Fleet is here? By the gods, how could this be..."

The tzarina set down her knife and fork and wiped her mouth with a napkin. "I was hoping nothing would interrupt us, but supper can wait. Let us head down to the docks and see this fleet for ourselves."

Emperor Franz sighed. "I agree. Lead the way, sir knight."

The short walk to the docks was mostly uneventful. Almost everyone had retired for the night, and besides the occasional guard patrol ambling by, the prospekty were silent and empty. Of course, all this would soon change as the evening went on.

"Emperor Franz, Queen Katarina," Captain von Witzland greeted the monarchs as they arrived at the docks with their Reiksguard cohort. Behind the captain, a mixed unit of swordsmen and handgunners stood in formation and at the ready. "I bid you a good evening."

"Report, captain." Franz demanded.

Von Witzland nodded. "As soon as I caught word of Nordland ships sailing towards our docks, I roused my men and ordered them to muster here, in preparation for the Second Fleet's arrival. You've further orders for us, mein Kaiser?"

The emperor looked around the area for a while, then frowned. "Tell your men to maintain their watch here — I'm assuming command. As for you, von Witzland, I need you to return to the settlement proper and summon the elector counts on my behalf."

Von Witzland saluted his liege. "Understood, your majesty. I'll be returning with the grafen shortly."

As the state trooper captain departed from the area, Katarina continued to observe and keep quiet. The tzarina never did like to issue orders around as queen, and she was grateful that Franz more than made up for her unwillingness to speak with his eagerness to command.

Soon enough, the men keeping watch at the end of the docks sighted the distinctive sheets of the Second Fleet, all emblazoned with the seal of Nordland, as well as Imperial crosses and skulls. What's even stranger still, just behind the second fleet was a smaller group of warships all flying the colours of the Bordelen Dukedom of Bretonnia.

"Make way, people!" Somebody shouted. "They're coming in, and I think the _Schlächter_ 's coming to dock!"

Katarina continued to wait, and Franz never stopped barking orders to his people. As the minutes went by, more and more state troops poured into the area. Elector Count von Raukov appeared with a retinue of greatswords, and Graf Todbringer actually brought along the juvenile dire wolves Franz had charged him with, along with his usual set of bodyguards.

Balthasar Gelt, Magister Lord Starke, Frau von Lichtenfels, and a few other mages made an appearance. Starke seemed to be all by himself, but Gelt was being followed by his new retinue, consisting of several notable state troopers and knights.

"Nordlanders, hmph. I have a feeling we'd be seeing old Theoderic Gausser shortly," The masked supreme patriarch said, with some uneasiness in his stance and tone. "I wonder, is he still furious about that "incident" I arranged for his coffers on your behalf, Franz?"

"If he is, you have my permission to turn more of his belongings into gold," The emperor casually replied, his attention focused elsewhere. Katarina couldn't help but notice that the emperor's eyes seemed to be fixed with the name " _Schlächter_ " embossed on the side of the steadily-approaching greatship. "This is not the time to be engaged in petty feuds."

By the time the venerable greatship had dropped her anchor by the docks and her crew began disembarking to meet with their long-lost comrades, Katarina had counted at least six heavily-damaged Wolfship-type lineships, eleven standard Wargalley ramships of varying conditions, two pristine Ironfist bomb vessels, and a single Hellhammer siege galley in this particular Empire fleet.

The tzarina had no doubt that the Second Fleet was heavily depleted. In better times, it should have thrice as many ships sailing under it. From the look of the battle-damage the surviving vessels sustained, Chaos was obviously to blame.

"Just look what the gods dragged in here with us!" Graf Todbringer laughed at the sight of Nordland marines, state troops and sailors stepping into the docks, eyes wide and ashen-faced. They look like they've seen the worst Chaos had to offer. "And good timing, too! We'll need their—"

"Father...?"

The count of Middenland immediately cut himself short, his smile quickly leaving his weathered face. The Ice Queen, the emperor, the elector counts, and their retinues turned to the side to see a shivering lady in fine, but dirty clothing, eyes welling with tears and clutching a greasy shawl around her shoulders.

"You're... you're alive..."

Todbringer took a few steps forward, as if in a trance. "...Katarina."

The tzarina regarded the count with an inquisitive stare at the mention of her name, at least until the man broke into a sprint and quickly enveloped the lady into a crushing embrace. "Ha-ha! Hahahaha-hah-HAH! Oh, by Shallya's mercy — Katarina! My dear, sweet child! I've... I've all but lost hope of seeing my own daughter again!"

Lady Katarina Todbringer immediately began crying tears of joy.

Count von Raukov cracked a bittersweet smile at the sight, his own heart heavy with longing for his own family. Katarina and Franz looked to them, and then to each other, knowing how much they felt the same.

"Your family could still be alive inside those ships, you know..." The tzarina spoke softly.

"I pray to Sigmar you're right, my queen." Franz muttered, with some hope in his voice. "I long to see Saskia and the children once more."

"Saskia is dead, Franz."

Katarina saw Franz's expression twist into that of surprise, then anger. He turned back around to find the source of the voice, only to see none other than Admiral Dietrich Steinhäusser — his own brother-in-law.

"I saw it with my own eyes. My dear sister... killed along with a thousand others as they tried to escape from Altdorf through the Imperial Harbour..." Steinhäusser spoke like he was on the verge of tears, but his expression was that of utter fury. "Where were you when the Norscans razed Nordland and butchered my people, mein Kaiser? Where were you when Reikland — your own bloody province — was burnt to ashes by the Everchosen and his rat-men pets? Where were you when the Empire you've been elected to defend needed you most?"

Emperor Franz scowled. "You speak as though—"

Steinhäusser sharply cut him off. "Where were you when more than a dozen mutants had their way with your wife? Where were you when they slit her throat and devoured her entrails? And only the gods know what they did to your children!"

Shocked beyond words, Franz did not speak to respond.

"Bastard! For the love of Ulric, ANSWER ME!" Lord Steinhäusser screamed, face red with rage. He did not seem to care that he had caught the attention of everyone at the docks, nor that he just disrespected his own sovereign ruler.

"Admiral, that's enough!" Von Raukov interjected, placing himself in between the two men. "I should have you relieved of your rank for your insolent tongue, but I am not your elector count. Rest assured that Gausser will hear of—"

"You bloody fool, Count Gausser is dead!" Steinhäusser exclaimed, more than a little hysterical. "Everyone is dead! The Empire you've abandoned is in shambles, thanks to you pathetic, craven lot! The Old World will burn, and they'll come and raze this... this wretched hovel you've made soon enough!"

"Steinhäusser!" It was Todbringer speaking this time. Beside him, his direwolf pets barked and growled at Steinhäusser. "Unless you'd like my boys to cut it out for you, you'll hold that seditious tongue of yours this instant! You're a lord of Nordland and an admiral of the Imperial Navy — this conduct is unbecoming of your station!"

"Admiral? ADMIRAL?" The frenzied man snarled at the graf. "I am the sea lord of the Imperial Second Fleet, you one-eyed, drunken goatshagger! Put to the task by Ludolf Köhler himself as he drew his final breath!" Everyone tensed up as he suddenly drew a pistol from his belt and pointed it at the gathered state troops from Reikland, Ostland, and Middenland.

"And as for you, ALL OF YOU! You are nothing but cowards and traitors! Vermin! Betrayers! How could you follow these men in their treason?" He pointed to Franz, to Todbringer, and then to von Raukov with his free hand. "You joined them in their cowardice! You deserted your own people — left us all to die!"

At this, Karl Franz swallowed his grief and found his voice. "Lord Admiral Dietrich Steinhäusser. Put that weapon away and stand down." He demanded, voice severe and grave. "I've seen more than enough of this manic behaviour of yours — stand down, _now_."

"How DARE you!" Steinhäusser levelled his gun at the emperor. "I always knew my father made a mistake by marrying Saskia to a damned Reiklander! You don't deserve her, or the throne!"

This time, Franz did not hesitate. "Men, remind the admiral of his place!"

Before Steinhäusser could react, he found himself tackled to the ground by a burly Reiksguard knight in full plate armour. He trashed and tried to pull himself free, only to be struck hard by a steel-capped boot to the face by a state trooper dressed in Middenland colours. He stilled, after that.

"Hmph." The knight pinning Steinhäusser down sat up, pulled up his visor, and looked to his liege. "He's out cold. What do we do with him, mein Kaiser?"

"Take my brother-in-law under custody, and have him prepared for questioning. Tell von Mannstedt I sent you."

Katarina put down the spell she was channelling. She watched as Steinhäusser's body was hauled away and out of sight by a cohort of soldiers and knights. His own men did not even seem to react much to it — the Nordlanders looked like they just saw yet another man who had his resolve tested by the things he had seen and done... only to fail utterly as his burdens finally became much too heavy to bear.

"Von Raukov, Todbringer... take over from here." Franz said, after some time. Katarina looked to him and thought that he looked like all his vigour had just been sapped out of him. "Tell the shipmasters they have my permission to disembark here — even the Bretonnians. As for these men, have them directed to proper beds and warm food. If they ask questions... tell them everything."

The two elector counts were surprised at this, at the very least. Still, they obeyed the emperor's command. As Franz turned to leave the docks with his knights, Katarina tried to ask him if he was alright, but the most he got out of him was a hollow, lifeless stare.

She watched him leave. Her face was set in her usual impassive expression, but her heart was heavy with sympathy for her friend and ally. The tzarina dearly understood what the emperor was going through, and wished she knew of a way to aid him in his grief.

"Tzarina Bokha?"

Katarina turned to the side to face Count von Raukov. In his gloved hands was a thick, weathered ledger marred by tea stains and water damage. "You might want to read this, your majesty. Apparently, according to this manifest for the _Schlächter,_ she had been carrying refugees from Ostland, Hochland, Middenland, and Kislev. Here, have a look."

The tzarina began scanning the ledger as soon as von Raukov handed it over. Indeed, she read that around two thousand of her people had been picked up by the Second Fleet over the months, with most of them having taken refuge in the _Schlächter_ 's cargo hold.

"Thank you for informing me of this, count." Katarina handed the ledger back to von Raukov.

The elector count of Ostland nodded. "Would you like to meet them? I'm sure they're anxious to see you again, after all this time."

The tzarina gave a single nod. "Yes... I would like that very much."

* * *

 **THE EMPIRE**

"And then, I asked him, "Is this Cousin Okri of yours real?" I mean, the stuff he mentioned you did here and there seemed too far-fetched, to he honest."

Cousin Okri burst into laughter, the beer in his hand spilling to the floor with each movement. "Hah! Well, manling, I'll have you know that everything he told you about me is completely true!"

Kruber scratched his bearded chin. "Even the one with Duke Adalhard d'Lyonnese, the angry ogre mercenary, and the maggot-infested goat-cheese wheel?"

Okrundsson's eyes shot up at once. "Oh... THAT one. I had thought Bardin had forgotten about that debacle. Needless to say, I try to avoid the Bretonnians in my travels as much as I can, lest they—"

The sound of a pistol shot, followed by a resounding crash from outside and the whinnying of startled horses drowned out the rest of what Okrundsson would have said. Kruber shrugged and was about to suggest the dwarf continue, when his ears heard the voice of a certain witch hunter he was quite familiar with.

"Can't you cloddish Hochlanders get anything done? Get this bloody cart back upright, now!"

"Right away, mein Herr! I'm so sorry!"

Okrundsson set down his stein. "Eh, why do you look so surprised, Kruber?"

"I thought I heard someone I recognise..." The captain said, standing up. "I think we should head outside and check out what happened."

"No, thanks, manling. After a long day's work laying traps beyond the walls, I'd rather stay here and relax."

"Suit yourself, Master Okrundsson. My ale better be still here when I come back."

The dwarf chortled at that. "I don't make promises I can't keep!" He cried out as Kruber stepped away from their table and walked out.

Meanwhile, outside the alehouse, Witch Hunter Captain Victor Saltzpyre angrily coshed one of his retainers over the head with his engraved walking cane. "Your clumsiness knows no bounds, Herkenhoff! Keep this up, and you'll never earn a place in the Order!"

The poor templar acolyte removed his helmet and waited for the ringing in his ears to subside before sheepishly apologising to Saltzpyre for the umpteenth time. "I... I hope you can forgive me, captain..."

Saltzpyre growled his frustration as he surveyed the scene around the fallen cart. His luggage, his spare vestments, and his "tools of judgement" laid bare and scattered over the snow-covered path, his other retainers tripped over themselves trying to correct Herkenhoff's mistake, and the horses they used to pull the cart were nowhere to be found, having had fled into the settlement earlier.

"Ah, cheer up, manling!" Saltzpyre's foul mood soured even further at the sound of Bardin Goreksson's voice. The ranger veteran had taken to consoling Herkenhoff, it seemed. "With time, you'll get used to life on the road, I'm sure!"

"Leave the poor wretch to me, master dwarf." The witch hunter captain said. "Pampered nobles like Herkenhoff typically show a pitiful lack of Imperial discipline... fortunately, I am not unused to instilling some measure of direction through the use of—"

"As I live and breathe... Victor Saltzpyre!" It was then that Kruber made his appearance. He almost tripped on Saltzpyre's luggage as he approached, but he managed to keep his balance. "I can't believe it — it's really you, sir! Taal's teeth, it's been ages!"

"Who in the name of—" Saltzpyre turned sharply on his heel, brandishing his cane like he would a weapon. "...Sergeant Kruber? Is that you?" The witch hunter captain seemed to recognise the state trooper captain, but his one good eye still glinted in typical templar-esque suspicion by the light of the torches his men carried.

In response, Kruber stood straight and saluted his old employer. "Aye, sir. Although it's "Captain" Kruber now. I was reinstated by his imperial majesty himself."

"I've heard." Saltzpyre nodded, easing his stance. "I admit, I'm surprised to see you here, Kruber. I had a feeling you died not long after Ubersreik. And I definitely thought you perished in Ostland after the emperor and his armies disappeared, along with your new employer — Supreme Patriarch Gelt."

"Hah." Kruber laughed. "It'll take a lot more than—"

"KRUBER!" Goreksson exclaimed, dropping his tankard at the sight of his fellow Ubersreik comrade. "Markus Kruber! By Valaya, haha, you're alive!"

Kruber was startled to see the dwarf. "Master Okrundsson? I thought you said you wanted to stay inside the—"

"Captain Kruber! Where are you, lad?" Cousin Okri shouted as he stumbled out of the alehouse doors, an overflowing stein in each hand. "The other umgi are playing darts back inside, now! Ludolf's already wagered his family's secret sauerkraut sauce recipe, and... and..."

Kruber and Saltzpyre couldn't believe their own eyes. In front of them were two dwarf rangers; standing right in front of one another, they looked every bit alike, down to the way they dressed, the shape of their faces and the colour of their hair... even the way they groomed their beards.

Seconds passed as the identical dwarfs gaped at each other in shock, at least until Okrundsson dropped his steins and spread his arms wide.

"BARDIN!"

Goreksson grinned and did much the same, minus the stein-dropping.

"OKRI!"

Kruber looked on in confusion as they embraced, their armour and equipment clanging together loudly. "Uhh... sir, are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"Unfortunately." Saltzpyre sighed. "I had to deal with Goreksson's constant prattling and drunken antics for months after we evacuated from Nordland on Sea Lord Steinhäusser's ship. This is getting out of hand, Kruber. Now there are _two_ of him!"

"Master Okrundsson ain't so bad, you know." Kruber said. "He's... well, exactly like Master Goreksson. Uh, never mind what I just said."

"Hah-ha-ha-hah! It's good to see you again, cousin!" Bardin patted Okri on the back so hard, the other ranger almost toppled over. "What've you been up to?"

Okri excitedly responded with a string of rapid-fire Khazalid, causing Bardin to respond in kind.

"I thought dwarfs don't speak like this among non-dwarfs." Kruber noted as he watched the rangers talk animatedly, no doubt that they were already trading stories of felled monstrosities and grudges rightly settled.

"These dwarfs are _rangers_ , captain. They are not exactly the most traditional of their kind." Saltzpyre was quick to respond. "You should know this by now, after all that time you spent with Goreksson in Lohner's inn during those months in Ubersreik."

"All this mention of Ubersreik is making me all nostalgic, sir." Kruber jokingly admitted. "It's been a while since we've all been breathing the same air, innit? It certainly looks like the old band's coming back together. Where's Sienna, by the way?"

Saltzpyre seemed to hesitate for a second, at the mention of his former bright wizard prisoner. The moment did not last, however. "The witch is dead, most likely." He callously replied, as though stating the weather, or telling the time. "I heard that Thyrus Gormann and all those that accompanied him died in Kislev. Sadly, Fuegonasus was among the man's retinue the day our allies to the north were overrun..."

Kruber frowned. He did not exactly got off to a good start with the fire witch, but he counted her as a trusted comrade-in-arms after surviving the horrors of Ubersreik together. Hearing of her death was truly saddening. "...well, for what it's worth, I'm sure she gave the northlanders hell before the bitter end."

Saltzpyre nodded stiffly. "Yes... we can be sure of that, at the very least. Sigmar keep her, wherever she is now."

"Aww. And I thought you hated witches like me, Victor."

Both men were startled upon hearing a familiar, teasing voice. They turned around to see Saltzpyre's men uneasily parting to the side at Sienna Fuegonasus' approach. "Surprised to see me, darlings?"

Saltzpyre closed his open mouth. "Fuegonasus. I see you're not dead."

"Obviously." The bright wizard smiled that typical self-assured smirk of hers. "I'd hate to die and leave you a heartbroken mess, you know. At least, not without seeing you lose what's left of your sanity in person."

Saltzpyre sputtered in fury, unable to respond with words. He managed to calm himself relatively quickly, however. "...ever the sharp-witted witch, you are." His voice dropped lower as a cold, sneering mask of a seasoned witch hunter descended upon his face. "Do tell us how you managed to escape Kislev and end up here. We have a lot of "catching up" to do, so to speak."

Sienna just laughed. "Ah, _that's_ the Saltzpyre I know. Do you think I made some kind of pact with the dark gods in exchange for leaving Kislev with my life?"

"The thought had crossed my mind multiple times."

To Kruber's surprise, Saltzpyre fished out a pistol from his coat and pointed it at Sienna. "You know how this goes." He cocked the hammer, good eye burning in zealous conviction. "Speak, or perish where you stand, witch."

"Sir, I don't think—" Kruber began, only to be quickly cut off.

"When I need your opinion, _captain_ , I'll ask for it." Saltzpyre said, before turning back to Sienna. "Well, Fuegonasus? Out with it."

"Oh, sure, hunter. Whatever you say." Sienna shrugged, never losing the smug look on her weather-beaten face.

"When Thyrus Gormann, the old fool, declared that he would stand his ground and defend Kislev City to the last ounce of strength in his body, I called him mad. I said we had to retreat to Ostland to fight another day, but he wouldn't listen. So, instead of accompanying him to his death, before Chaos could destroy the city and overwhelm its defenders... I ran. Most of his retinue had the good sense to come with me, of course."

"So you escaped your fate in Kislev by running from it like a baseborn craven."

"I was being _practical_ , Saltzpyre. Dying in the defence of a doomed city won't accomplish anything meaningful. It's sad that Gormann couldn't see that, but what's done is done."

"And how did you manage to end up here with us? I didn't see you in the _Schlächter_."

"You couldn't. I hitched a ride aboard the _Verteidiger_ just before they evacuated Dietershafen. Having to live in a cargo hold in the company of unwashed refugees and state troops is not for the faint of heart, let me tell you."

"Try being trapped with a seasick dwarf and my brainless protégés for months on end." Saltzpyre said, slowly lowering his pistol. "I will learn soon enough if you're telling the truth, Fuegonasus, and I'm _not_ convinced that you haven't succumbed to the Taint just yet."

Kruber decided to pitch in to defuse the situation completely. "Do know, sir, that this world seems to be cut off from the dark gods completely. The moment we were placed here by Lileath, the northlanders we were in battle against had supposedly been cut off from th—"

"Kruber, what is this nonsense you are spouting now?" Saltzpyre interrupted him again, crossing his arms as he did so. "You've been drinking again, are you?"

"Ah, well, it's my down-time tonight, and—"

"I heard somebody mention me over here!" Bardin shuffled into sight, with Cousin Okri beside him. His eyes widened upon seeing Sienna. "Zharrin! You're here, too! Grungni's axe, we only need the wutelgi to complete the old company!"

Saltzpyre all but ignored the dwarf. "Kruber... tell us all about this place. And tell us how the armies of Reikland, Middenland, and Ostland even got here. I've a feeling heretical sorceries are involved."

"Oh, you don't know the half of it, sir." The captain was all too happy to comply.

Captain Saltzpyre's old Ubersreik company minus one waywatcher sat down by the fallen cart as Kruber began to tell the tale of how he and his fellows were whisked away from the Old World to the frozen lands Beyond the Wall. The state trooper captain told his old comrades of Lileath and her nebulous plan, as well as the current situation surrounding New Praag. He told them of the free folk and the Night's Watch, as well as what little he was told of the lands south of the Wall. He even told them what happened to Emperor Franz.

All in all, it took Kruber the better part of three hours to relay his story. During that time, Saltzpyre's retinue had righted the cart, fetched new horses from the nearest stable, and reorganised their master's things. Bardin and Okri frequently brought out drinks from the building as Kruber spoke, providing everyone outside something to wet their throats with... at least until they reached their alcohol ration limit.

"Markus, that is the most ridiculous story I've ever heard — and I've heard plenty, having had to endure the constant prattling of my teachers during my days in the college." Sienna downed a gulp of ale and wiped her mouth.

"I must agree with Fuegonasus. What you just told us is... laughable at best." Saltzpyre abstained from drinking, as usual.

"Aye, but you can't deny that it is a good story to share over a drink or two!" Bardin said.

"All we need now is a bunch of grobi heads to kick around!" Okri added.

Kruber scratched the back of his head. "I swear, it's the truth. On my honour as a man of Taal, may he strike me down for a liar and a heretic should a single piece of untruth had been said from my mouth."

Saltzpyre and the others still looked unconvinced. "Well, I know for a fact that you're an honourable man, Kruber. Although I still have my doubts, I'll just have to take your word for it."

The witch hunter captain stood up and spared a moment looking around his darkened surroundings. "We've been talking here for far too long, I say. I should be discussing Order business with von Mannstedt by now."

"Well, it shouldn't be too late, sir." Kruber said, also standing up. "If we ditch the cart and the extra people, we can use a shortcut around the settlement I know to take us to the dungeons quickly."

Saltzpyre briefly contemplated on the captain's offer. In the end, he turned to Bardin. "Goreksson! I trust that you have no objections to the notion of staying here and keeping stock of my things and my people while I'm gone?"

The dwarf laughed. "And leave me to catch up with my kin and drink the night away? Not at all, grimgi! Go with Kruber and get this von Mannstedt woman bowing and scraping before you!"

"You have my gratitude... dwarf." Saltzpyre forced out his thanks before regarding Kruber again. "Well, that's settled. Lead the way, serg— ehem, _captain._ "

"You don't mind if I invite myself to come along for this little walk you're having, do you, Victor?" Sienna asked for permission to come along, though it was clear she intended to go whether Saltzpyre allowed her to or not.

The witch hunter captain rolled his eye. "I no longer hold a leash around your neck, witch. You are free to do whatever your heretical little mind desires."

With that said, Kruber, Saltzpyre, and Sienna departed for the dungeons together. With Kruber's knowledge of the settlement, he led his comrades across the darkened streets and the deserted alleyways of New Praag, mindful of disturbing those sleeping inside the shelters he walked past.

"Mind if I ask how you lot managed to strand yourselves here, so far from the Old World?" Kruber spoke up, after a while. "N-not that I'm not glad to see you, of course."

"All I know is that witchcraft is involved." Saltzpyre replied sourly. "We were sailing on the Sea of Claws, engaged in battle with a host of daemons and northlanders. All of the sudden, Bretonnian ships appeared on the horizon..."

"Then a lightning storm engulfed all of us." Sienna said. "I'd have thought it was the end, but then we discovered that the Norscans have all vanished, including the longships they sailed on. The daemons also disappeared with them, which was fortunate... I didn't think I could burn another wave of bloodletters to protect myself."

"Regardless, even if they did not vanish into thin air, we'd have triumphed over the forces of Chaos in the end. The Empire endures." The witch hunter captain said, without an ounce of doubt in his voice. "Back to the original story at hand — the Second Fleet continued to sail for a short time... until Karl Franz's griffon paid us a visit."

Kruber chuckled. "Hah. Deathclaw made it a habit to patrol the skies around our settlement, scattering free folk bands before they got too close to the walls. He must've sensed you coming."

"These "free folk" raiders you keep mentioning... you said they insist on waging total war with us, correct?" Saltzpyre looked behind his shoulder as the three of them continued to navigate the empty streets. "Do you truly believe that the dark gods haven't had a hand in this?"

"Absolutely, sir. Like I said, for all intents and purposes, Chaos does not exist here. The warrior priests confirmed it themselves — the free folk are uncorrupted, and the land they live in is untainted."

"A world without Chaos?" Sienna considered the implications of this. She frowned, after a while. "I can feel the Winds of Magic still blowing here, although faint. Surely the dark gods still have a presence here, however small."

"Exactly my thoughts, witch." Saltzpyre agreed. "You made the mistake of letting your guard down, Kruber. Thankfully, your error can still be rectified."

The state trooper captain rolled his eyes at the templar's usual paranoia, but he did not try to press the issue. It wasn't very long until they all reached Lady von Mannstedt's residence, which also doubled as the settlement's local dungeons.

"Von Mannstedt! Open up!" Saltzpyre knocked on the reinforced entrance to the dungeons, letting his steel-lined gloves dent and scratch the door's metallic surface. "This is Captain Saltzpyre! You and I have much to discuss!"

Silence.

Failing to notice the look of dismay on Kruber's face, Saltzpyre knocked again, louder this time. "Don't make me knock once more! This is important—"

In one swift movement, the door swung inward, revealing the hulking, torch-bearing, ever-silent form of Sir Todwunsch, the Black Guard. Kruber arched a brow at the sight of the man — he couldn't recall ever seeing him outside his obsidian plate armour.

"You're not a hunter! Who in Volkmar's name are you?" Saltzpyre demanded, looking up at the towering raven knight of Morr. When his vision adjusted to the light, he seemed to recognise that he was talking to a Black Guard, making him scoff in annoyance. "Never you mind that, sir knight. Lead me to Fräulein von Mannstedt, if you can. The two of us have plenty of Order business to discuss."

Sir Todwunsch spent a few seconds glaring at his guests through his visor before grunting his assent. With a dismissive wave of his hand, the raven knight gestured for the trio gathered outside to follow him as he turned around.

"I see this von Mannstedt person isn't as fond of the _methods_ Saltzpyre often relies on." Sienna observed as she looked around the dungeon, her eyes lingering on the occupied cells the group walked past.

"What do you mean?" Kruber dared to ask for elaboration.

"Fuegonasus means Tristan von Mannstedt's timorous runt is afraid of dirtying her hands with the blood of heretics and barbarians, like a proper Sigmarite templar." Saltzpyre scoffed. He gestured at the cells and the poor souls inhabiting them.

"Take note, for example, these cells. Look at that one — she is bound, gagged, blindfolded, and her ears are waxed... pah, sensory deprivation. How wasteful. And this one — he has the wretched look of a man who hadn't had an hour of sleep, or a smidgen of food for days. If this pathetic thing does decide to speak up, he'll be so desperate for some rest and a little nourishment that he'll say anything to get what his body craved. What's more, just look around you! Not even a simple rack or pillory in sight."

The witch hunter captain seemed thoroughly disappointed at what he was seeing. "Mark my words... things will change around here, once I take over. This dungeon needs a warden, not a caretaker."

"That's assuming Lady von Mannstedt would even submit to your authority, sir." Kruber said, noting that Saltzpyre seemed to know a lot about the witch huntress. "Just saying."

"Oh, but she will, captain." Saltzpyre replied, rather nonchalantly. "After all, she may be nobility, but I have far more experience and seniority over her."

Sir Todwunsch led the group down a flight of stairs... then down another, then another, then another. Along the way, Saltzpyre spied several different rooms, including an armoury, a small mess hall, crew quarters, and even a furnished living hall, complete with a fireplace and a few stocked bookshelves.

"Well, at least we know the templars actually have beds to sleep in. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think this place is starting to feel more livable the more of it we see." Kruber said. "It's still a little claustrophobic, though."

"I feel like we're traversing a dwarfish hold. I think Bardin would like it down here." Sienna noted.

"By the Comet, I hope not." Saltzpyre visibly shuddered at the thought.

Another few minutes passed until Sir Todwunsch stopped outside a door, seemingly at the very end of the complex. He didn't bother knocking on it — he simply pushed it open and walked inside... only to slam it shut behind him at the last second, much to Saltzpyre's irritation.

"Siegmund?" Fräulein von Mannstedt stood up from her seat at her cluttered desk, rubbing her tired eyes. She wore nothing but a nightgown, seemingly having had spent the night thus far reading reports and writing paperwork. "Having trouble sleeping again? Not to worry, I'm sure there's still a bottle's worth of lethargy draft left over from—"

"Mhh-hmph." Todwunsch shook his head. He raised his hands and made a few signals with them, then pointed to the door behind his shoulder. "Hrmph."

"You led three people to my door?!" Von Mannstedt mouthed out, visibly restraining the volume of her voice. "Bloody hell, I need to get dressed! Quickly, go outside and keep them busy while I go and get cha—"

"Fräulein Eloise Wilhelmina von Mannstedt!" Saltzpyre, having had run out of patience, barged inside the room, pushing Todwunsch aside as he did so. "I'll get to the point, like I always do! From this night onward, I am taking over this... this..."

To his credit, the witch hunter captain was quick to avert his eyes. "Gods! I entered a woman's boudoir!"

Face utterly red, Eloise scrambled behind a cabinet. "Sigmar's teeth, how the hell are you here, Saltzpyre?" She cried out.

"That's not important right now, Fräulein! Go and get dressed, and be quick about it!" He turned around and immediately stomped out of the room. "Do _not_ keep me waiting!"

Eloise sighed and snatched her clothes and uniform from her wardrobe as soon as Saltzpyre stepped out of the room. In turn, Todwunsch patiently waited as she slinked off to get changed behind a dressing screen.

Outside, Saltzpyre was greeted with apologetic and amused looks from Kruber and Sienna, respectively.

"Well, I _did_ tell you barging in wasn't the best idea, sir." Kruber said, scratching the back of his head.

"Not your best moment, huh, Saltzpyre?" Sienna was grinning ear-to-ear.

The witch hunter captain scowled. "The last time I saw Eloise von Mannstedt, her head was so small, my hat engulfed it completely when she put it on. She grew quickly, it seems."

Kruber looked surprised at that. "I noticed that you seemed to know her, sir. I just didn't figure that you knew her ever since she was a little kid."

Saltzpyre folded his arms. "Let's just say that Tristan von Mannstedt and I used to work together in service to the Order. We had common foes and common interests in mind for the most part, but we also had our disagreements regarding the "policies" our so-called superiors deigned to uphold. Suffice it to say, our partnership — such as it was — was never fated to last."

Finally, the door swung open again, and out came Fräulein von Mannstedt, now garbed in proper templar vestments. Sir Todwunsch, as always, was right behind her.

"Saltzpyre." Eloise coolly levelled her gaze toward the witch hunter captain, taking note of his snappier uniform and significantly fancier hat. " _Captain_ Victor Saltzpyre. You... got old."

Sienna stifled a laugh as Saltzpyre's permanent scowl deepened. "As have you... Lady Eloise."

The witch huntress put up a strained smile in greeting. "I don't suppose you're in the mood to tell me exactly how it is you're standing outside my office tonight?"

Saltzpyre wiped under his nose. "You'll know soon enough. I didn't come here to discuss my arrival here with you, but rather, discuss—"

Approaching footsteps forced Saltzpyre to hold his tongue. Everyone turned to the side as a pair of figures climbed down a flight of stairs and emerged into view by torchlight.

"Evening, folks." Wolfhard Richter flippantly saluted the people gathered before him, as though he expected to see them. Although he spent a moment studying everyone present, he was quick to regard his half-sister. "Recognise this face, Eloise? Some of the emperor's knights dropped him off just then."

Saltzpyre wasn't surprised to see Sea Lord Steinhäusser beside Wolfhard — gagged and in chains. All it took was a small shove from Wolfhard to send the disgraced navy officer toppling to the floor.

"That's... that's Franz's brother-in-law, Admiral Dietrich Steinhäusser of the Imperial Second Fleet." Eloise muttered numbly in shock. "How did he get all the way here from Nordland?"

"That's not important right now," Wolfhard said. "Steinhäusser's here because he threatened some of our men with a pistol, including the emperor himself. The knights who hauled him here said we should prepare him to be questioned — Karl Franz will be arriving to "speak" with him within the hour."

That seemed to put Eloise back to an alert state. "Well, let's get to it, then. Pull him back up on his feet and take him to the interrogation room on the double. I'll just get my tools ready and—"

"Hold on a moment!" Saltzpyre cut in. He glared at Wolfhard. "You, templar — look at me. Tell me your name."

Wolfhard looked to Saltzpyre, to Eloise, then back to Saltzpyre. "Err, it's Wolfhard, sir." Some recognition seemed to dawn on him as he continued to study the witch hunter captain. "You look familiar."

Eloise walked up to him and slapped him at the back of the skull. "You idiot, don't tell me you don't remember Victor Saltzpyre. He used to accompany father on some of his assignments."

"Victor Saltzpyre?" Wolfhard scratched his beard. "You mean THAT Victor Saltzpyre? The one that also used to harp on about rat-men living under our floors? Captain Ludowinger said he died in the retreat from Kislev."

"It goes without saying that your lickspittle captain is _wrong_! Those damned Wissenlanders and their baseless assumptions!" Saltzpyre angrily exclaimed, pointing the end of his cane toward Wolfhard. "Kislev almost cost me my life, boy. And it certainly did cost me an entire, bloody foot... but it will take much more than the loss of an appendage to keep me down."

Kruber arched his brows in surprise. "You... lost a foot, sir? Is that why you have that stick?"

"Well... I see that you have a disturbing penchant for losing bits of yourself, hunter." Even Sienna looked concerned. "Best be careful from now on — at least it wasn't your head the northlanders managed to hack off."

Saltzpyre ignored them both. "Von Mannstedt, I will keep this short. As captain, I have the authority to take command of all Order assets under your direction for the good of the Empire. From now on, this dungeon will be my headquarters, and you will serve directly under my leadership. You will carry out my orders to the best of your ability, and delegate tasks to your subordinates as I see fit. With any luck, we'll have a fully-functional chapter house up and running within the next few months."

Saltzpyre paused for breath. "...have I made myself clear?"

Eloise gave Saltzpyre a look of incredulity. "You can't be serious, old man."

"Oh, but I am, Fräulein. Don't look so disheartened — you're the second most senior templar in this settlement, and that means you still have the same authority you possessed before my arrival... except, of course, that you now have to answer to me."

"There's no way I can protest to this, is there?"

"None whatsoever. Unless you desire to bring up this matter to each of the generals as well as Volkmar the Grim, that is. How you'll go about resurrecting our dead superiors and locating the grand theogonist's whereabouts is up to you, I'm afraid."

The witch huntress palmed her face and sighed into it. "By the gods. Fine. Do what you want, Saltzpyre. Just... let's get Steinhäusser ready before the emperor's arrival, alright?"

A satisfied smile tugged at Saltzpyre's scarred lips. It disappeared almost instantly. "Superb. It is best if we get to work, then."

Wolfhard closed his mouth. "Well. That just happened. I don't suppose we have time to drink to our new captain's ascension, do we?"

Saltzpyre glared at the younger templar. "Silence, boy. You will not talk unless I asked for your input." He jabbed Steinhäusser's prone and bound form with the end of his cane. "Get this wretch back up on his feet, and escort him to where he is needed. I command it."

"Need some help with him, templar?" Kruber was quick to offer his help.

Wolfhard grunted as he hauled Steinhäusser up. "I appreciate it, captain."

Sienna watched the two men leave with the prisoner. "I like that one, Victor. Something tells me he'll be the source of many future headaches for you."

The witch hunter captain sighed. "I managed to put up with the likes of you, Goreksson, and the elf for several months without putting a pistol to my head. I am well-equipped to handle an ill-disciplined templar who likes to speak out of turn."

Eloise just shook her head.

* * *

 **THE IMPERIAL NAVY**

Steinhäusser groaned as his body hit the floor for the third time this night.

"Gute Nacht, mein Herr." Wolfhard cheerily bid the disgraced sea lord a good evening. "Let's go, captain. Something tells me Saltzpyre might want to have a few words with me."

"Sorry, sir." Captain Kruber muttered, before he turned around and left the room with Wolfhard.

Steinhäusser flinched as the door slammed shut behind the two men, leaving him in total darkness. Groaning softly, he crawled up to a corner in the room, alone and filled with regret over his brief descent into madness.

He lost control, and soon, he would pay the price for it.

A small voice at the deepest corner of his mind whispered promises of power and vengeance should he allow it more thought. He ignored it, smothering it in his sorrow for the things that he lost.

For an unknowable amount of time, Steinhäusser languished in his cell, awaiting his judgement. He lost consciousness once or twice, but his troubled mind kept him from ever truly resting. His eyes were closed when his ears picked up the sound of his cell door swinging open, followed by the clanking of armoured boots.

"Stand him up." Someone said. "And get that thing out of his mouth. He'll need to talk for this."

"Right away, lady knight." Someone else responded.

Steinhäusser did not resist them when they started manhandling him. He felt someone remove his mouth-gag, only to quickly shove him down a seat. He gasped as cold water hit his face and splashed all over his dirty uniform.

"That's enough!" Another voice interrupted. There was no mistaking it — Karl Franz was now in his cell.

"Open your eyes, Dietrich." The emperor commanded. "Look at me. Listen to what I have to say."

Steinhäusser did as he was told. He was greeted by the sight of the emperor and several Reiksguards standing before him, the latter with swords and pistols drawn.

"For each question I ask, you will give me an answer." Franz said. His imperial majesty was much taller and broader than Steinhäusser remembered, and his eyes were glowing a fierce blue against the dimmed, orange flames of his knights' torches. "Cooperate, and we can move on from what happened at the docks. Resist, and you will never see the light of day again."

"Is this... how you rewarded those who risked life and limb in the defence of the Empire in your absence, mein Kaiser?" Steinhäusser couldn't hide the venom in his laboured tone.

"No. This is how I punished those who menaced their own countrymen with a loaded firearm. Concentrate!" Franz struck the wall beside Steinhäusser's head with a gauntleted fist, loudly smashing a hole into it. "The Empire — what became of it immediately after my disappearance?"

It took all of Steinhäusser's will to keep himself from being intimidated. "Chaos cults sprang up all over the provinces overnight. The nobles began sending their armies to fight one another over petty disputes, and dozens of settlements were lost to beastmen raids. The Empire slowly succumbed to infighting, and by the time the Everchosen's warriors arrived to finish us off, there were barely enough state troops to attempt fighting them off."

At that, Emperor Franz grimaced deeply. He began pacing around the cell, clenching his gauntlets tightly. It was a while before he spoke once more. "The things you said at the docks... about Nordland, Reikland, Altdorf..."

"All true."

"And my family... Saskia and the children..."

Steinhäusser hesitated. "...they're dead, Franz. All of them. Dead."

Franz stopped pacing. For a long while, he just stood there, staring at the wall with a vacant expression.

The silence was suffocating. As some of the knights removed their helmets and bowed their heads, Steinhäusser let the tears flow freely from his eyes.

Emperor Franz closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and sighed it out. "...Are you sure, Dietrich?"

"I saw Saskia die in agony with my own eyes."

"But what of the children? What of Luitpold and Sieghilde?"

"What does it matter? If they aren't dead now, they soon will be."

"Answer my question, Steinhäusser." Franz's voice had grown cold and grave. "Do you know for a fact that they've been killed?"

The disgraced sea lord heaved a bitter laugh in between sobs. "No. No, I don't know their exact fates, and I thank the gods for that. If you truly must know, weeks before Altdorf was sacked, Saskia wrote to me — she told me she had both her children sent south with an escort of three of your Reiksguard knights."

Some measure of hope bled into Franz's grim expression. "Three Reiksguard knights... did she tell you why?"

Steinhäusser wiped his eyes. "She hoped they'd manage to reach Wissenland before Reikland is overrun, but I know better. The poor souls would never make it past the brayherds."

He put his head in his hands. "Had she told me before she sent them away... if only I had known..."

The emperor was no longer paying any attention to him at this point, however. "Luitpold and Sieghilde... escorted by three Reiksguard knights..." He muttered, as though in a trance. "Three knights... with two _children..._ "

"Your majesty?" Reikscaptain de Brie lifted her visor. "Are you quite alright?"

"Sigmar's teeth," From the stunned look on Franz's face as he whipped around to face the knight-captain, he seemed to have realised something incredibly important. "Lady knight, mobilise the state troops at once! We need to find the elves before they— hurk!"

Suddenly, Emperor Franz stumbled back, clutching his chest and eyes bulging. His skin turned white, and the light in his eyes started to dim. "I... I am not... h-have I been..."

The Reiksguards barely had enough time to react before Franz sunk to his knees, then crumpled over on his side.

"My lord!" Reikscaptain de Brie sheathed her longsword and was at the emperor's side in an instant. With one hand, she tried to steady Franz as he began convulsing, and with the other, she gestured for her fellow knights. "By the gods, summon the witch hunters and get me a bloody jade wizard, now!"

Steinhäusser paid little attention to them. He continued sobbing as several of the knights bolted out of his cell. He didn't even notice when Franz began to heave out a viscous, transluscent substance into the floor.

* * *

 **End of Chapter V**

* * *

 _Notes: You're probably wondering why I took so long to upload a chapter. Well, to make a long story short... life happened. If you want more details, then let me tell you that it's because of a combination of studies, cash shortages, work, and a couple of issues I began to have with the story._

 _What are these issues, you might ask?_

 _I read some feedback on the story a couple of months back, and apparently, I wrote chapters too long and my pacing is as slow as a slug climbing over a fence on a hot Australian summer day. That much was already obvious to me, but I didn't know so many people took issue with it. So, with these reviews in mind, I got to work trimming this chapter to a less wordwall-y size._

 _By the end of it, though, after reading it over, I did not like the way it flowed. The prose was too abrupt, some of the sentences might confuse because of the lack of further context, and I felt the faster pace did not suit the overall scope of the story_ — _that of an escalating war between two groups of very angry men. With a heavy heart, I scrapped large swathes of the chapter and began re-typing them in my usual style of writing. This took me a long time to do._

 _The other major issue I have is that I began to severely regret implementing certain elements in the story, especially the "Karl Franz as Lileath's champion-abomination-pawn"-thing, and everything else that came with it. I also regret not utilising or underutilising other Warhammer factions, such as Bretonnia, Norsca, Dwarfs, Wood Elves and Kislev. Needless to say, I'll do away with the former entirely at some point in the next chapter, and as you can see, I've already addressed the latter issue in this here chapter. Who knows, I might even manage to cram in some greenskins and skaven at a later point. Everyone knows Saltzpyre has a penchant for capturing rat-men alive for study and dissection._

 _Speaking of Saltzpyre and the Ubersreik Four (and Kerillian), with the release of Vermintide 2, since Kruber's already in the story, I might as well bring in the rest of his buddies, right?_

 ** _FIRST EDIT:_** _I see some people raising concerns about the advancing amount of characters being introduced to the story. Let me reassure you that it is not my intention to make all of them permanent POV characters that will take time away from the established main characters. I often use these kinds of OCs as narrative devices_ — _like props, in a fashion._ _It is highly unlikely that I'll ever write them as central characters again, so consider them gone, if you want. Most of the time, after their time in the limelight, they'd be relegated to the background as tertiary characters._

 _One other thing: when I wrote that I'm writing more Warhammer factions into the story, I never intended to bring the entire Old World into Planetos, causing Insert Warhammer Faction of Your Choice Here to steamroll the poor low-fantasy natives with their ridiculously overpowered fluff. I simply meant that I want to use them later, as leaving them in the background seems like a waste._

 _Let it be known that this is still an Empire vs. Westeros story, now only with some minor assistance (or the opposite) from tiny, TINY groups of other Old Worlders._

 _Besides, I feel like the Empire in the lands Beyond the Wall seems too small to pose a credible threat to King Robert_ — _they may have griffons, demigryphs, blackpowder weapons, magic, artillery, tanks, and a better-trained, more seasoned army, but even these won't guarantee victory when their forces are outnumbered a hundred to one._ _After all, griffons and demigryphs tire, blackpowder arms cannot be used indefinitely, and the Winds of Magic are weaker than ever._

 _Also, still no harems._


	9. Die Ruhe vor dem Sturm

**LUITPOLD**

it was midnight.

"Hysh..." Luitpold von Holswig-Schliesten bared his teeth as he buried his sword up to the hilt into a northlander savage's ribcage. The dying foeman gasped and gurgled as blood welled up in his throat and dripped down his open mouth. "...haarh, take you!"

Beside the young prince, his sister Sieghilde clenched her teeth as she struggled to reload a pistol. Just a few metres ahead, a screaming group of savages raised their axes, clubs, and torches as they committed to a head-on charge against the siblings.

Seeing this, Luitpold pivoted to the side and held out a hand. A split-second later, three bolts of cleansing energy burst from the apprentice wizard's open palm and took to the air, illuminating the area as they did so. By the grace of the gods, the advancing northlanders reacted too late, and were promptly incinerated in a brilliant explosion of righteous, arcane fire.

"Oooghh, by the Eight Winds..." Luitpold crumpled to the ground on a knee, face paler than usual and panting in exhaustion.

The prince cursed himself for his weakness. He was baffled at how quickly his spellcasting seemed to tire him out, and how weak their effects seemed. Where once he was proficient enough with his abilities to cast several spells in quick succession, now he couldn't even cast the most basic wards without steadying himself first.

"Your highness!" The last of the siblings' Reiksguard protectors clocked his current opponent on the jaw with his buckler and shifted over to Luitpold as quickly as he could. "Are you alright — can you walk?"

"Hargh, I'm... fine, sir knight!" Luitpold planted his sword into the snowy ground and used it to stand himself up. "There's too many of them here! We... ugh, we have to move somewhere safer!"

The knight used his buckler and parried a clumsy overhead blow from a nearby savage, then carried on with his momentum to thrust up with the reiterschwert in his other hand, impaling his foe's throat. "But to where?" He retracted his blade and looked to Luitpold.

Sieghilde took aim with her pistol and fired, killing a northlander before she could sink her spear behind the knight's back. "Anywhere, just not here!"

Luitpold channelled the Winds and prepared himself to move. "Sigmar, preserve us! Hysh, guide our strides!" He put away his longsword and raised his hands to the air. Before long, twin orbs of iridescent light materialised on his palms, and his eyes started glowing in the dark. "Shield your eyes and avert your gaze! Do it now!"

The advancing savages received no such warning before a bright, arcane flash dazzled them, depriving them of their sight. Half-dazed, Luitpold wiped the blood from his nose before grabbing Sieghilde by the arm. "This way, sister, come on!"

The Reiksguard knight pulled his visor back up before quickly trailing after the siblings. "Have a care, more of them are coming from those woods!" He gestured to the side, where, indeed, dozens more of the northmen started pouring out in pursuit of their outnumbered and exhausted quarry.

Several minutes passed as the siblings and their escort padded away from the woods and made their way to a more open, less-forested area. Luitpold hoped that they'd shake off their pursuers somehow, and he was more than open to taking action in order to do just that.

"Keep running, stop for nothing!" With his flowing white robes fluttering behind him, the prince began channelling the White Winds again, which was much more difficult on the move.

"Do you even know where we are headed, brother?!" Sieghilde huffed, daintily holding her tattered and muddy long skirts in her hands as she ran.

"It matters not where we go, Sieghilde!" Luitpold repeated a phrase he found himself using quite often these past few months. "Just follow my lead! I will..."

The mound of snow just ahead of the siblings suddenly exploded, showering them in bits of frost and obscuring their vision. Sensing danger, Luitpold just managed to take his sword out of its scabbard when a massive, white-furred paw raked across his steel chestplate, knocking him flat on the ground as it did.

"LUITPOLD!"

Sieghilde rushed over to her brother, only to be intercepted by a hulking ursine creature. Standing at eleven feet tall, the snow bear growled theateningly at the princess as it bore down toward her.

"Get away from it, your highness!"

The siblings' Reiksguard protector surged forth, pulling Sieghilde back and bravely putting his shield in between his charge and the aggressive animal. Around them, the northlanders steadily began to catch up, their savage howling and hooting growing louder and louder.

"Princess, take your brother and go!" The knight swiped his blade at his beastly adversary once and twice, keeping it from pouncing at him and pinning him down. "I'll hold them here! Quickly now, before—"

Suddenly, a trio of arrows pierced the side of the snow bear's hide, making it recoil back. The beast roared and turned to meet its new foe, only for another arrow to hit it dead-centre on the forehead, near-instantly killing it. Surprised, the knight barely managed to shuffle out of the way before the monstrous animal's heavy bulk could fall atop him.

Luitpold gasped as he regained consciousness. His legs ached, his head threatened to cave in on itself, and the pain on his chest betrayed several broken ribs. Before he could black out again, the prince tried to will himself up to stand.

"Rise up, mageling."

The prince was startled to see a hooded figure standing before him, holding out a gloved hand for him to take. "Wh—? Who is...?" Without thinking, he took it.

"You cannot stay here." The figure, clearly a wood elf ranger of some kind from the spiked longbow she was holding in her other hand, pulled Luitpold to his feet with little effort. "These barbarians are without number. I may be able to see you to safety, but you must do exactly as I say."

"Luitpold? What's going on?" Sieghilde seemed wary of the ranger.

"By the gods, it's that bloody elf again!" The Reiksguard knight exclaimed, sounding none too pleased.

Luitpold knew better. This particular elf carred different weapons, appeared less haggard, and seemed much better nourished. Her leathers were camouflaged to her wintry surroundings, and her face wasn't covered in any way, leaving her expressions plainly visible. Notably, this elf's eyes were a brilliant, pearly white — a stark contrast to the unsettling black orbs he had grown used to.

"I see Lord Amryn wasn't _completely_ lying," The elven ranger vaguely said, nocking a fresh arrow into her bow as she did. "You short-lifers have met with the waywatcher already."

"You mean the one who calls herself Kerillian?" Sieghilde said. "Yes, we've met, but is this _really_ the bloody time to discuss her? We still have to find a way out of this frozen hell!"

As though they've heard, one of the charging barbarians hurled an axe at the group's direction, narrowly missing Luitpold as it embedded itself on the tree next to the prince.

"Gods!" Luitpold shouted, scrambling back in fear. Before anyone else could react, though, the elf put down the offending barbarian with a swift arrow to the chest.

"This way, you lot! Come on!" She bounded away as she motioned for the three humans to follow after her.

* * *

 **AURELETH**

The freezing winds washed against her face as the waystalker led her new charges through the snow-covered undergrowth. Along the way, foolish northmen raiders tried to put themselves in the wood elf's path time and time again, only to be swiftly dispatched by arrows to the head or neck, or errant swings of the blade should they draw too close.

"Wait up, elf!" A tiny voice cried out from behind Aureleth. Turning around, the waystalker wasn't surprised to see the three lumberfoots so far behind. The girl in particular was gesticulating animatedly with her arms as she shouted, "My brother is injured! We need to find a safe place to tend to him!"

The young ones spoke Reikspiel with distinct, upper-class Reiklander accents, Aureleth thought. The fact that they were escorted by a Reiksguard knight certainly lent credence to her suspicion that the siblings were Imperial aristocrats of some kind.

"HEY! Are you even listening, you damned tree-hugger? We need! To stop! Right NOW!" The girl was jumping up and down now, not caring how her scarves and skirts flailed wildly in the air.

"Not so loud, sister!" Though weakened, the boy managed to cry out. "You'll draw the bloody northlanders to us. I'd rather not exhaust myself even further with my spells!"

This one displayed some measure of wisdom, at least. "I know a secluded clearing close by!" Aureleth raised her arm and waved at them as she started to move again. "It's through this path! We should be safe enough there!"

Making good use of her extensive knowledge of her forested surroundings, the waystalker threaded and weaved her way through the white woods, occasionally stopping to either take care of potential free folk threats, or wait for her dreadfully slow-moving charges to catch up, especially the lumbering knight in full plate.

After some amount of time, and half a dozen dead raiders later, Aureleth reached the clearing she spoke of. The area was quiet, and the shadows of the night blanketed around it very well, hiding it from the fleeting gazes of Mance Rayder's ilk.

 _This should do,_ the waystalker thought. _Now, to wait for_ —

"You could've slowed down!" The girl spoke in a harsh whisper. Here, Aureleth could see her clearly. Looking every bit like an Imperial highborn down on her luck and forced to make do without her luxuries, this human exuded typical Reiklander arrogance and vanity... even in her tattered, once-regal blouse and skirts. Her long and glossy black hair shone by the light of the moon, and her freckle-sprinkled face was youthfully pretty... at least, by human standards.

"Not all of us are adept at running through snow, you know! What's more, ONE of us is injured!" She held her hand out toward her brother, who was being half-carried by their Reiksguard companion.

"You needn't fuss over me... nor repeat yourself, sister." The boy said, his voice hoarse and strained despite his words. Like his sister, this human seemed to be some kind of noble, judging by the amount of gaudy jewels and the golden trim he had incorporated in his Light Order robes... but it still wasn't too obvious in his case. His short, dark blonde hair was slicked backward, and his scowling face was pale, paler than most humans Aureleth had observed.

"Just... argh, get me down somewhere, sir knight." He commanded. "Let's get these damned wounds patched up... I've seen enough of this place to last me three lifetimes."

As the humans started to settle down, Aureleth took the time to prepare herself to move again. Setting her weapons and quiver down, the waystalker promptly scaled the tallest tree in the clearing and began to survey her surroundings, her keen eyes watchful for free folk movement.

"I'm no healer, but I think this looks bad." Aureleth heard the girl say from below.

Turning to look down on them, the waystalker saw the boy slumped against a rock, his damaged chestplate casted aside and exposing his wounds through his blood-spattered robes. His sister crouched beside him, looking at his injuries with clear worry. Meanwhile, the Reiksguard knight prepared a healing kit for use.

"No offence, sir knight, but I think if my brother has to survive this accursed forest, we need to get him to a real healer."

"None taken, milady." The knight nodded his helmed head. "Ehh, should milord perish, I can also perform last rites."

"Sir knight!"

"...I should just keep quiet, shall I?"

The waystalker shook her head and set her gaze back to the woods beyond. _Foolish mayflies... they did not seem to suspect that elves have much better hearing than their misbegotten kind._

"Do you think there's any hope of us making it to Nuln? Or even just a part of the Empire that still stands, in any case." The boy gulped down the numbing draft the knight offered, then braced himself as his protector tentatively began binding his wounds.

"We have to keep hopeful. I'm not dying here." His sister responded as she set herself down, with her back to a tree.

"Does it even matter where we'll die? Hmmff, agh! Herghh, hah... the world's at its end, as you and I both know." He groaned in pain.

"If that's the case, then I'd rather die with my nation. This... this place is not a fitting grave for a princess of the Empire." She declared, managing to sound quite proud and determined.

 _Isha's breath!_ That certainly caught Aureleth's attention. Calming herself down, the elf turned away from her surroundings a second time. "What did you just say, human?" She was quick to remove herself from the tree and return to the ground.

"I... what?" The girl seemed confused and wary as the waystalker started walking toward her group, spiked longbow still drawn with an arrow nocked along the string. "You... want something from me, elf?"

"Tell me, young one," Aureleth began, "What is your name?"

Surprised at the unexpected nature of Aureleth's question, the girl quickly belted out a canned response. "It's... it's Kremhilde. Why do you as—"

"You lie." Aureleth immediately cut her off. _Does she think she can fool a waystalker of Atylwyth?_ "Your name is Sieghilde, is it not? Princess Sieghilde IV, of the Empire."

"Uhm, well, I'm not..."

"It's useless, sister." The boy spoke up, even through gritted teeth. "The forest folk are too cunning to be fooled by the likes of us. I suppose it's only fortunate that she hasn't proven to be another foe... at least, not at the moment."

"And you are Luitpold II, by my guess..." Aureleth sighed, putting her weapons away. "Lileath guide me, my task has become much more difficult."

"And what is this task of yours, if one might ask?" Sieghilde narrowed her eyes at the waystalker.

The elf almost laughed. "It's a simple enough affair, to be truthful. I was sent here by none other than your father, Emperor Karl Franz, to take you to safety inside the settlement his men and his Kislevite ally had built over the months. I have one other task beyond that, but it does not concern you, and I doubt you'd care."

The siblings and their knight were silent, for an uncomfortable while. The three of them stared at Aureleth as though she suddenly mutated extra eyes and tentacles.

"Father is alive?" In the end, it was Sieghilde who broke the quiet. "I... no, this can't be. He's been missing in action for _years_ , elf. It was... it was hard, having to lose him..."

"Whatever game you're playing at, elf, I refuse to play along." Luitpold's shock immediately turned into fury. "Father's gone. Obliterated along with two elector counts, their combined armies, and a sizeable chunk of the Forest of Shadows. What you say is impossible."

"Oh, that?" The waystalker scoffed, masking her surprise at how offended she felt. _And I thought these two would be glad to know that their father was alive and well._

"Listen well, then, foolish short-lifers. Their "disappearance" in Ostland was my goddess' doing. Lileath saw some measure of worth in Karl Franz, so she spirited your father and his soldiers away from the Old World to here, where they are meant to fulfil her vision. I should know — I was by his side when it happened."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean, ranger? Stop speaking in riddles!" Luitpold tried to push himself up and look fierce, but ended up wincing in pain and failing terribly. "Urgh, come on, speak! I demand to know. What is the nature of this "vision" you speak of, and how can one of _your_ kind be fighting in service to the Empire in the first place?"

"Calm down, mageling, lest you strain yourself." Aureleth rolled her eyes and renewed her taxed patience with the boy. "Lileath's goals are known only to herself, and I may be one of the forest folk, but this did not stop your father from accepting me into his retinue. Ever since then, we have been working together against these savages we face now. I tried my best to keep him alive, and despite his infuriating habit of diving headlong into certain death, I've been successful thus far."

Sieghilde smiled, perhaps unconsciously. "That... that sounds like what father would do."

"Likely story. What could a wood elf stand to gain by following Emperor Franz?" It was the knight's turn to speak, and he seemed less than impressed.

"On the unlikely chance that you find the answer to that question, short-lifer, kindly let me know." Aureleth waved him off, trying to sound dismissive. "Know that you needn't be overly suspicious of me at every turn, mayflies. I speak only the truth, and I'm here to fight your enemies, not betray you at the worst possible time."

"What a very specific thing to say." Luitpold deadpanned.

Aureleth just shook her head. "Enough. I've not the time, nor the mood for this chatter. The free folk are sweeping this area for us, and they will not stop until all of us are dead. If you feel that you're all ready to leave this place, then don't hesitate to tell me. I'd rather not spend any more time out here than I have to."

"I thought you elves liked being around the woods." The Reiksguard knight had the nerve to quip.

"I like them much better without daft scunners running around, emulating the beastmen as they look for civilised folk to murder." Aureleth matched him.

Luitpold, sheer frustration radiating off of him and knowing full well how weakened his body and his spells were, tapped into his magical reserves and casted some kind of spell on himself. Grunting, the young light wizard pushed himself up to stand again, succeeding this time. "So you say. Assuming the elf _isn't_ lying, and that father's alive and somewhere around here, then it's best if we see him soon."

Sieghilde's eyes began to water. "I've... it's just been so long... I can hardly believe it myself. Is... is father really...?"

"We'll find out soon enough." Luitpold said, not sounding too hopeful. "Lead the way out of here, elf. My powers have returned me to my usual strength, but not for long! The sooner we reach this settlement of yours, the better."

"Agreed." Aureleth nodded, drawing her weapons. "Follow me, then."

* * *

 **THE ORDER OF SIGMAR**

"This rack goes... here. And this one, here. Freudenstein! Take Schwarzwald and place the guillotine from the cart near the brazen bull by the centre of this hall — that way, our prisoners will see the terrible price of insubordination! And by Sigmar, Herkenhoff, move those legs, you bloody sloth!"

Eloise, Wolfhard, Gisele and Todwunsch stood by and observed as Saltzpyre directed a small army of acolytes, state troops, priests, and junior witch hunters from atop a munitions crate. Seemingly without ever tiring, the witch hunter captain's minions re-designed the New Praag dungeons to be more in line with his "tastes", despite being low on time, supplies, and manpower.

"Uh, perhaps we should help..." Gisele dared to ask, adjusting her tinted teashades as she did. "Surely we can do more than just sit here and watch them work. Besides, it looks like Saltzpyre's men need all the help they can get."

"Not if we have standing orders to sit back and watch "how it's done", according to our new captain." Eloise tried to keep her frustration from seeping into her tone. "Apparently, I haven't been running this place to proper Order standards. The nerve of that man!"

"In the captain's defence, you're well behind your maiming quota, sister." Wolfhard snarked. "Let's be honest here... you don't exactly inspire fear into the hearts of our prisoners. If anything, your refusal to use physical torture most of the time endears you to them."

Eloise growled at her half-brother, but said nothing in response. Behind her, Todwunsch just shrugged his massive shoulders.

"You four! Stop chattering back there!" Rang Saltzpyre's voice, making Eloise cringe. "I ordered you to pay attention, not to make commentary!"

Gisele sighed as Todwunsch whined out a confused noise. "I'd give anything to do something else right now..."

Her wish was granted relatively quickly. Not a minute later, an unexpected guest dropped by.

"Ahhh, so _this_ is what the famous templars of Sigmar do in their natural habitat!"

Eloise turned to see the visitor entering the dungeons. To her mild surprise, she found a strapping man garbed in a debonair Bretonnian naval officer's uniform, complete with a trimmed bicorne, a ceremonial sash and rapier, an overcoat pinned with medals and ribbons, and a red cravat. His skin was sun-tanned, his hair was a curious, darkened shade of orange by torchlight, and his grinning face was fairly attractive in his own, foreign way.

The man, in turn, was quick to regard the first women that crossed his sight, those being Eloise and Gisele. "Oh, it appears they also allow comely women into their ranks." His grin noticeably widened. "Consider me most impressed!"

Eloise glowered at him. Gisele had the nerve to match his smouldering gaze with her own.

As for Saltzpyre, the witch hunter captain was less than impressed. "What are you doing here? You trespass upon Order grounds, Bretonnian. Tread lightly."

"My one-eyed friend-to-be, I assume you are the one in charge here, yes?" The Bretonnian asked, smile never leaving his face. He bowed formally, scraping one of his boots across the floor as he did. "I bid you a good evening. Admiral Reinald Henri Sébastien du Chastel of the Bretonnian Navy, ever at your service, monsieur..."

"I ask again, Admiral du Chastel," Saltzpyre did not relent. "Explain the nature of your "visit" here before I change my mind and have you thrown out. As you can see, I've little time to spare, especially for uninvited guests."

"Spoilsport." Du Chastel righted himself, though some measure of mirth remained in his expression. "Before I cut to the chase, let me provide some context. I recently met with a friendly Reiklander fellow on my way to the city proper, and he mentioned that the fearsome witch hunters of New Praag know more about the uncharted frontier than anyone in the settlement. Is this true?"

Eloise shook her head. "Of course not. Okrundsson's rangers spend most of their time navigating the woods outside the settlement, whereas we still have our own duties to bind us here. What, might I ask, do intend to do with this information?"

Saltzpyre did not seem too pleased to see Eloise speak on his behalf, but kept quiet as du Chastel replied, "Why, my fair-and-exceedingly-lovely-templar-whose-name-thus-far-eludes-me, it is because I want to see the sights for myself! I haven't seen this much snow before, and I intend to capitalise on this fortuitous weather to sate my curiosity. To do this, I need you to serve as my guides, to keep me from losing my way, of course."

"You're mad." Eloise said. "Surely you must have heard of the bands of heathen marauders prowling the woods beyond our walls for foreigners to kill and rape, have you? One does not simply travel outside our settlement unmolested, you know."

"A bunch of irate savages armed with sticks and stones are of little concern to me." Du Chastel responded, confidence radiating off of him. "I am a master duelist, and I have my own retinue of hardened marines and knights to protect me."

"Then what do you need us for?" Wolfhard rolled his eyes.

"Haven't you been listening, good man?" The admiral chuckled. "I don't need you to _protect_ me, I need you to _guide_ me, that is all I require of you. And before you ask me for a reward of some kind, know that if you do this for me, I will be more than willing to provide your Order with the supplies and manpower you so desperately need, from the looks of things. I'll even throw in some coin, should you desire. What say you, my grim and pious friends?"

Saltzpyre certainly seemed interested, but was too proud to even consider the offer. "Us witch hunters are not mere escorts-for-hire to be strung around by offers of coin and dubious favours, especially from the likes of you. Begone from here, and speak to us no more—"

"I have this curious Estalian contraption in my collection. It's apparently a torture device meant to flay the skin from a poor soul's body, but leave them otherwise intact." Du Chastel interrupted. "Well... perhaps not _mentally_. Anyway, I've no taste for such things myself, but perhaps you'd like to have it down here, captain? You already know my price."

The next thing Eloise knew, she was already outfitted in her field garb outside New Praag, cold and too furious for words. With her rapier in one hand and a blazing torch in the other, the witch huntress reluctantly led the way through the darkened woods with her companions in service to Admiral du Chastel, who rode in the company of his own warriors and retainers.

"Très bien! A sight to behold, to be sure!" Du Chastel openly gaped at the dreary frozen sights by the illuminating light of the moon, in a manner not unlike a child witnessing his first snowfall. He looked down to his more dour guides and smiled in mocking sympathy. "Dejected frowns and heroically-determined scowls all around, eh?"

The admiral laughed as Eloise pulled her hat down further, followed by Wolfhard openly sneering at him. "Ah, chin up, mes amis aigris. Who knows, we might run into luckless savages. I've heard that killing heathens is a good way to cheer you people up!"

"If the northlanders are brave enough to face us, I will be more than glad to show them my methods when dealing with the unrighteous!" One of Saltzpyre's cronies, a twitchy, battle-scarred witch hunter named Sir Henrik Vogel, brandished his double-headed flail for effect, baring his disturbingly angular teeth as he did. "Before I'm done, they will _beg_ me to send them to Morr!"

Eloise narrowed her eyes at her fellow Order colleague as she examined him by torchlight. She had heard that before the climax of the Third Battle of Blackfire Pass, Vogel was brave enough to take on a rampaging wyvern by himself and not only survive, but also stand triumphant over the beast, surprisingly enough. This impressive feat earned him several equally-impressive scars, a knighthood from Marius Leitdorf himself, and a promotion from a mere acolyte to a full-fledged witch hunter... though not without cost.

"Heh heh, hah hah, ehah hah hah hah!" Vogel began shaking uncontrollably, visibly trembling with holy rage. "Let them come! I am ready for them!"

Wolfhard subtly edged away from Vogel as he kept marching. "Urgh, why can't Saltzpyre send one of his saner retainers instead..." He muttered under a breath.

In contrast, du Chastel seemed impressed by Vogel. "See? This templar knows how to look at the bright side of things. If the rest of you want this trip to be over with quickly, then you should all be more like him, yes?"

Eloise scowled, not deigning to look at her charge. "I'm not interested in becoming a pseudo-flagellant, sir."

Du Chastel looked down from his horse and turned to Eloise again. "Oh, but I don't want you to become a slovenly fanatic and starve yourself, my dear, dark templar. Why, I could scarce imagine how becoming one of these so-called flagellants would damage your... graceful physique. I say, you are perfect the way you are!"

The witch huntress' scowl deepened as she turned away, biting back the string of caustic words she was close to belting out. Seeing his employer upset, Sir Todwunsch directed his impassive, black-helmed glare at du Chastel, who did not seem to notice in turn.

"Now you see what I mean about Bretonnians, sister?" Wolfhard muttered as he walked in step with Eloise and Todwunsch.

"Shut up, Wolfhard." She wasn't in the mood for her half-brother's games. "Keep your eyes up front, I don't want us to screw this up... not with Saltzpyre on our backs. The last thing we need is that crotchety old bast—"

"Hold up!" Suddenly, Gisele cried out at the front. The state sergeant dropped down on her knees and signalled for those behind to stop and be quiet. "Still yourselves. We're not alone."

Ever since the mission to extract Emperor Franz from hostile territory, Eloise quickly learned to trust Gisele's keen eyes and sharp hearing. Gritting her teeth, she made herself as low and unassuming as possible without question.

"What do you sense, Weiss?" The witch huntress hissed through her teeth. Beside her, Todwunsch drew his volley crossbow and surveyed the shadowy area through the weapon's iron sights.

Gisele breathed in and out. "I detect movement up at the woods ahead. It could be just the local wildlife, but I suspect otherwise." She frowned. "It's big, that's for sure."

"The bigger the beast, sergeant, the greater the glory!" Vogel said, not even attempting to be quiet.

"This could be interesting," Wolfhard pulled out his repeater handgun, cocking it as he did. "You want me to scout ahead of the group? Better I spring traps than our oh-so-charming charge over there." He subtly gestured at Admiral du Chastel, whom had begun making friendly bets with his men regarding what was up ahead. "I can take Weiss along, if you want."

"Fine," Eloise huffed. "I'd rather the sergeant stay here and alert du Chastel's party of threats, though. But not to worry, I'll come with you instead."

She turned to her other retainers. "Siegmund, can you stay here with Weiss and Vogel? I need the three of you to look after the admiral for me — keep him from doing anything stupid or "chivalrous". We'll be back as soon as we can."

"Mrghm." Todwunsch nodded, patting his weapon.

"Alles gute. Try not to get killed, you two." Gisele whispered.

"Hold a moment, von Mannstedt!" Vogel protested. Loudly. "I refuse to stand by and let the two of you keep all the glory to yourselves — I _demand_ to come along!"

Wolfhard sneered at him. "Calm yourself, and keep your demented voice down, you bloody nutcase. Are you _trying_ to get us killed?"

Vogel turned to Wolfhard, a gleaming, utterly murderous look in his wild, shadowed eyes. "You seek to silence me, whelp? Perhaps I have not been clear—"

"Fine, fine! You can come along if you wish, just quiet down!" Eloise was neither in the mood for entertaining Vogel's unstable temper. "I will indulge your desire for now, Vogel, but let me make it clear that as the leader of this group, I will _not_ tolerate any further insubordinations from you. Gods willing, a free folk arrow catches you by the throat and alerts us to their presence."

"That'll be the day," Wolfhard grinned. "So, are we ready to go or not?"

Eloise nodded. "Move out. Stick together and keep to the shadows."

With that said, the three witch hunters advanced as one, covering one another as they navigated the snow-blanketed woods. Everything seemed to be in order thus far, and there seemed to be nothing to suggest that the free folk were nearby in force. For a while, Eloise began to think that Gisele was mistaken...

That was, until the ground beneath the three of them began to shake, as though disturbed by exceedingly-heavy, thundering footfalls.

Eloise was just about to shift out of cover and reposition, when Wolfhard suddenly caught her by the shoulder and yanked her back into the shadows.

"I see contacts, to the left." Wolfhard muttered as he released Eloise. He briefly gestured ahead, toward a disused footpath obscured by snowdrifts. "Keep. Absolutely. Still."

Eloise grimaced. As cautiously as she could manage, she poked her head out of the shadows and checked to see just how many savages they were dealing with.

"Sigmar's teeth!" The witch huntress had to put a hand to her mouth to keep herself from uttering more and revealing her position. She was startled to see a man... or rather, a great, lumbering, man-shaped and disgustingly hirsute creature the size of troll. Equally startling, this oversized thing was flanked from all sides by a marching column of heavily-armed free folk raiders and spearwives, all looking quite eager to ruin the day for every Imperial they see.

For all intents and purposes, the hulking giant at the centre of the column was a monster. Eloise shuddered at the thought; it had been too long since she had to test her mettle against anything larger than her fellow men.

"You look a tad out of sorts, Eloise." Wolfhard still had the nerve to tease. "Are you in awe at the size of this lad, too?"

"Damn it, Wolfhard, be quiet!" The witch huntress spoke in a harsh whisper. "Now's not the best time for your idiocy — we need to figure out a way to deal with this!"

The witch hunter wiped his nose. "We? Last I've heard, you're in charge here, dear sister." He smirked as he looked down the sights of his firearm, quietly surveying the free folk raiding party and its largest and most prominent member. "What kind of dance do you have in mind for this lot?"

"What do you suggest, then?" The witch huntress asked, more than a little annoyed.

"I say we waltz right out of here." The witch hunter said, rather simply. "We've neither the numbers, nor the equipment, to deal with this problem. Not tonight."

Eloise considered it. She then turned to the other templar in her impromptu scouting party. "What say you, Vogel?"

Vogel, on the other hand, needn't say anything at all. His erratic breathing and the wild-eyed, rapturous look on his face were more than enough to convey his eagerness to do the opposite of retreating.

The witch huntress sighed, then settled on something else entirely. "We'll shadow them and observe. Nothing more, nothing less." A pause. "Oh, don't give me that bloody look, Vogel. Remember what I told you? Fall back in line — Saltzpyre be damned, I swear I'll—"

A ragged shout from one of the raiders drowned out the rest of what Eloise was saying. Fearing that they had been discovered, the witch huntress snuffed out her torch, unpinned one of the globes from her coat and prepared to blanket the area with acrid smoke, only to stop upon seeing another party of free folk warriors emerge from the undergrowth and attack their supposed comrades.

"What the devil is going on...?" The witch huntress stared open-mouthed as she watched the two free folk groups cross axes and hack one another to bits. "What manner of insanity have we become witnesses to?"

"DEATH T' THE MANCE'S FOES!" One of the attacking raiders screamed as he caved his fellow savage's head with a bronze club, then promptly scorched another man's face by forcing the burning end of his torch into it. All the while, he seemed strangely undaunted by the giant that's now carving a bloody path through his mates, shouting and roaring all the while. "DEATH T' KNEELERS, AND ALL THOSE WHO SIDE WITH THEM!"

"Mance Rayder's cause be doomed!" A spearwife from the defending group of raiders exclaimed in response, even as she plunged a scavenged iron dirk into her opponent's ribcage. "The free folk's true enemies be the crows, the Wall, an' their bloody southron lords, not the foreigners in Hardhome!"

Another spearwife marched up alongside the first, brandishing the wooden spear she previously used to repeatedly skewer a foe with. "Aye! You pox-faced Thenns should be fighting with us alongside the men o' the Empire, not against!"

Wolfhard seemed stunned to hear the spearwife's words. It seemed unfathomable that there were those in the free folk that even considered siding against their own in service to the Empire. "Bloody hell, Eloise. These are defectors we were dealing with. What should we do?"

"I... I, ah..." Eloise hesitated. She hadn't expected this to happen, not in the least.

"Fools! You dither and shake in your boots while the Sigmar's faithful shed their blood for the good of the Empire!" Vogel brandished his flail. "If you refuse to act, then so be it! I will not stand idle while our comrades do our righteous work for us!"

Before either Eloise or Wolfhard could react, Vogel broke into a sprint toward the fray, swinging his double-headed weapon above his head as he did. "Judgement is coming, heretics! FOR SIIIGMAAAAAAAR!"

Eloise scrambled for her weapons as Vogel propelled himself into the attacking raiders. "Curses!" She dragged Wolfhard into the open, killed a startled raider with a precise, close-range shot to the head with her concealed sleeve-pistol, and promptly started running after the unhinged templar.

"Ach, shite! There's a bunch o' KNEELERS comin' down those woods!"

"They're behind us, ye fools! Turn 'round an' face the kneelers, right fuckin' NOW!"

The appearance of three Imperials near their unprotected flank surprised the enemy raiders, to say the least. Resigning herself to a long and bloody fight, the witch huntress held up her rapier, and let her zeal and righteous bloodlust overtake her completely. "Death to Mance Rayder's dogs! Kill them all!"

Wolfhard remained silent. Instead, he let his multi-barrelled handgun speak for him.

Shouting an inarticulate battle-cry, Vogel used all his gathered momentum to charge right through a braced formation of shield-bearing raiders. With his immediate foes either too dazed by his charge or too distracted by the defecting free folk, the witch hunter swung his flail against a clustered group of distracted foes and smashed each of them down in a visceral display of blood and mangled limbs. When more of his opponents came to hack him down, Vogel crushed all of them with rapid, heavy-handed swings of his double-headed flail, causing most of the raiders near him to back away in fear.

"You ain't so tough, Imperial!"

An old, experienced-looking raider wielding an axe and a shield made out of crude bronze pushed his hesitant comrades aside and moved to test his mettle against Vogel. "I'll wear yer flayed skin as a cloak! DIE!"

In response, the Imperial only laughed as he surged up to his challenger. Visibly surprised at his opponent's speed, the old raider only barely managed to parry aside a swing from Vogel's flail. Seeing an opening, the raider pulled back his axe and lashed out with it. His strike found purchase as it sunk deeply into Vogel's side, splattering the snow under their feet with the witch hunter's blood.

Amidst the raucous cheering of his comrades, the old raider smirked in his triumph. Reeling his bloodied axe back, the old raider looked up to see the fear in his vanquished foe's face as he died. To his surprise, he found that Vogel had neither the eyes, or the pained expression of a dying man... but rather, the grinning, sanguinary look of a predator advancing on his cornered prey.

"MORE!" Vogel smashed his head into his surprised adversary's face before kicking him back.

"BLOOD AND PAIN! MISERY AND AGONY!" The deranged witch hunter reeled back his flail and struck the old raider's shield with it, shattering the bronze board and the arm behind it in a single, decisive blow.

"BECOME MAH-HA-HA-HIIIIINE!" The cheering abruptly stopped, replaced by screams of terror and disbelief as Vogel demolished the defenceless old raider, repeatedly smashing his dismembered corpse into the snow. They dared not interrupt, for fear of incurring his wrath.

Unfortunately for them, almost immediately after he had enough, Vogel wasted no time pressing his frenzied assault on those foolish enough to stand too close to him. "Heh heh, hah hah, hah HA HAH! HAHAHA HAH HAHAH!"

Time went by as the skirmish in the woods raged on. Eloise and Wolfhard eventually carved a path to Vogel's location, finding him ankle-deep in twisted free folk bodies and in the midst of slaughtering more scores of terrified raiders. Before long, more of the defecting free folk also arrived to drive their loyalist kin back into the woods, visibly heartened at the sight of the Empire's subjects fighting alongside them.

"Greetings, Imperials!" Eloise and Wolfhard were soon hailed by one of the defectors after dispatching another troublesome group of bronze-wielding raiders. "I am in awe — we have not yet declared our intent to join your king, but he already sends his warriors to aid us! Val was right — we should've abandoned Mance Rayder long ago."

Wolfhard, attentive as ever, immediately noticed how this particular free folk spoke differently compared to his kin. "Val? Is this the one who leads you?"

The defector nodded. "Aye, that would be the one." He briefly turned his head to look at Vogel tearing into the enemy with reckless abandon. "By the Seven, that man sure can fight! I saw him kill ten of Rayder's men by himself, once. They cut, stabbed, and bludgeoned him, but they couldn't slow him down."

Eloise shuddered as Vogel's deranged laughter rang out in the distance. "Indeed, but let us not get carried away. Can you take us to this leader you speak of? I believe there are some words that need to be exchanged."

"I'd be glad to, milady." The raider bowed, a surprisingly civilised gesture. "Follow me, I'll take you there."

As it turns out, this Val person was a fair-haired spearwife — an alluring, curvaceous one at that, as Wolfhard quickly noticed. Another thing he quickly noticed was that this woman had apparently employed the troll-sized, hair-covered man from earlier as her personal bodyguard.

"You have my gratitude, Imperials, for your timely aid." Both Eloise and Wolfhard were surprised when Val actually bobbed a curtsy for them. "The Thenns are relentless in their pursuit of us; many would have fallen if you hadn't interfered."

The giant next to her uttered something in its tongue, its voice expectedly deep and booming.

"And Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun here offers his thanks as well." Val added, smiling cheekily.

"I... you're... welcome, I suppose?" Eloise put an uneasy grin up at the giant, before returning to regard Val. "This is all well and nice, but we should discuss—"

"Oh, but there is nothing to discuss!" Val cheerily interjected. "We've seen how capable your emperor is, and now we are here, offering ourselves and our axes to the Empire. Together, our people can put an end to Mance Rayder's misguided cause, and hopefully... direct our efforts towards worthier endeavours."

"You... submit to the Empire? Just like that?" Eloise frowned. "From what I've gathered about you lot, the free folk do not submit to the likes of "kneelers" such as us."

"Aye, 'tis true. The free folk are a proud people, unwilling to bend the knee to the weak, and those who would hide in their stone castles while expecting us to pay them tribute." The spearwife conceded the point. "But I spoke to your emperor once, on his way to talk with Mance Rayder. I've seen for myself that in war, Karl Franz is not a weakling who would have others fight his battles for him, and I could tell that he is unlike a southron lord who would surely exploit the free folk under him, in times of peace. In the lands beyond the Wall, these qualities, among others, are what we look for in a king."

Eloise blinked, unsure of what to say to praise from who should be her foe.

Wolfhard seemed more contemplative. "A pretty speech, wildling. But forgive me if I say that I'm still not convinced. I talked with many captives from your people, and the only thing I can say with any degree of certainty is that you northlanders are a tricky lot. _Surely_ you have some kind of ulterior motive in mind..."

Val simply rolled her eyes, her smile never leaving her face. "Clever... or perhaps just too untrusting. I knew there is more to you than just a handsome face, imperial." She laughed when Wolfhard blushed behind his bushy beard. "Yes, I do have other reasons why I thought turning against my own kind was the best option I could take, after last week's events. If you wish to know the truth, then I shall be honest and tell you."

The spearwife breathed in and out, then begun speaking again after a pause. "Our people are at war, and I know for a fact that even united, victory over the Empire is beyond the free folk's reach. Your people are simply much too powerful, and I feel that should this war persist, my kind would be dealt a blow that we might never recover from." She turned to the side, her gaze toward the horizon. "I've already tried to tell Mance Rayder of his folly, but he would not listen... worse, my own sister seemed to encourage him to continue his pointless war against your people. I lost hope and despaired, for a while... until the gods showed me the way forward."

She looked to the templar siblings again, pale grey eyes glinting with steely resolve. "I intend to shorten this war in any way I can, to save my people from utter destruction. I know of Mance Rayder's plans, and I will be more than willing to help the Empire turn his own strategies against him if it meant that Karl Franz can put a swifter end to the bloodshed."

Eloise and Wolfhard were quiet for a while.

"You assume that the emperor would spare those who would surrender." Wolfhard said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

For the first time, Val seemed caught off-guard. "I admit that I did not think that far ahead. I know that some of my kind deserve nothing less than death, but Karl Franz wouldn't... go as far as to—"

"Meine Frau, please ignore my brother here." Eloise interjected. "Emperor Franz is not a merciless tyrant. He conducts himself honourably in war, and those of the free folk who had the sense of surrendering in battle will be spared as is Reiklander custom towards non-heretical foemen, I'm quite sure."

The spearwife sighed in relief. "Of that, I am glad to hear."

The witch huntress stood straight and surveyed the battlefield ahead, finding that most of the fighting had finally died down. She promptly turned to Val. "I feel as though you speak genuinely, but I'm afraid it is not my call to allow your people into the Empire — that would be the emperor's, as you might have guessed. If you would kindly follow us, we would—"

"By Manaan and Triton!"

Eloise groaned. Turning around, she wasn't pleased to see her Bretonnian charge and his knightly escorts trotting forth into sight on their mounts.

"Looks like the your templar friends went ahead and made new friends without us!" Admiral du Chastel smirked down at Gisele and Todwunsch beside him, who were both on foot. It was a while until he noticed the giant, Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun. "Ah! And most unusual friends they are, I see!"

"Uhh, Fräulein von Mannstedt?" The youthful state sergeant warily ambled up to the witch huntress, her stance tensed for combat and her eyes focused on the free folk warriors nearby all the while. "What in Sigmar's name have you three been up to?"

"Hrrmgh..." The knight of Morr growled at the raiders on his path, intimidating them into letting him pass. He did not seem at all bothered at the giant in their midst.

Eloise sighed. "If I tell you right now, we invite more danger to come to us. We should take this to New Praag... oh, and these defectors will be tagging along behind us, just so you know."

"Right," Gisele eased her stance and kept her hand from hovering on the hilt of her longsword. "Defectors, huh? Interesting. Where's Sir Vogel, by the way?"

Wolfhard chuckled. Val tilted her head to the side.

* * *

 _Georgiy's notes: this chapter was supposed to be part of the last one I've submitted, but data corruption forced me to re-write this section (thanks, Turnbull). Sorry about that, but here it is._

 _I know, I know... I've dragged this for far too long, and I agree that I should get my abysmal writing skills to finally cover the things we've all been expecting from this story, such as the Five Kings playground scuffle._ _The next chapter comes with the definite end to this "Empire-Wildling war" arc, then I should be able to finally write about how the Westerosi south reacts to their new neighbours (more like the Night's Watch and the Starks for a couple chapters initially, really)._

 _See you, and thanks for all the favourites, follows, and reviews. These things really do motivate me to write faster._


	10. Götter erhalten Franz den Kaiser, Pt I

_Sorry for the delay. I really am._

 _This chapter is spread into three bits. This one is the "preparation" phase, the second is the "battle" phase, and the third is the "final" phase, which spells the end for this tiresome arc once and for all. More on this at the bottom of the chapter._

* * *

 **AURELETH**

Luitpold wheezed and groaned in pain as he made the ascent to New Praag from Storrold's Point. By now, it was early in the morning, and Aureleth was forced to lend her shoulder to the Imperial mageling prince, with help from the nameless Reiksguard knight.

"You are strong. You can make it, mein Fürst!" The knight said as he half-carried the wounded prince up the sloping path, his own breath steaming from the holes drilled into his helm.

"This? Huuh, this is... this is nothing!" Luitpold gasped as he forced his legs onward. It seemed as though the last traces of his healing spell had expired. "I... march on... to the last...!"

"Enough. Do not exert yourself, Hyshqinar." Aureleth berated, teeth grit. The prince was heavier than his scrawny build suggested. "You'll only do yourself further harm. I doubt your father would be pleased to hear that you've killed yourself just outside his settlement's walls."

"We do need to get Luitpold to a healer soon." Sieghilde picked up the pace from behind the three of them, her gloved hands daintily holding her skirts as she ascended the slope. "He is counted among the hierophants of the White Order — an abnormally bloodless lot from what I've heard. Still, I've never seen my brother _this_ pale."

The four erstwhile companions struggled on, even as the salt-sea wind blowing from the nearby shore buffeted them in unrelenting waves. Aureleth had spent more than half of her long life in Atylwyth, but the chill was beginning to affect her, almost making her shiver.

"There!" Finally, after an agonising while, the walls of New Praag were within sight. The knight pulled up his visor and pointed with his free hand. "I see guard towers up ahead! The elf speaks true — there's an Imperial settlement out here!"

"Were you expecting a Bretonnian colony, short-lifer?" Aureleth deadpanned.

It didn't take very long for one of the Imperial sentries to spot the disheveled, shadowy figures approaching the gates. "Ey, ey, ey, ey! Oi, YOU! Free folk bastards! Up to no good again, eh? Well, just try and come closer, then! I'll put a bullet right between yer eyes, I swear by Rhya!"

"Try it, fool, and you commit treason!" Sieghilde shouted back, pushing her way past her three comrades. "I am Princess Sieghilde, daughter of the Empire and the future countess of Schilderheim _and_ the West March! You WILL open these gates and allow us entry at once!"

Aureleth arched a brow in amused surprise. For a while there, Sieghilde was the spitting image of her father.

The sentry irreverently spat into the guard tower floor, then leaned over the edge of the tower, his gaze directed toward someone else behind the wall. "Oi, Ambroos! Ranald's bones, wake up, you drunken fish-fucker! I've got a situation 'ere!"

"Hnnggkh, wh— what? Huh? Ach, what d' ye want now, Deinhard? Can't ya see I'm fucking busy?" A groggy voice responded.

"Listen, I've got four sods demandin' entry to the settlement, and one of 'em, a mouthy Reik-lass, says she's Karl Franz's daughter." The sentry said, taking off his helmet and scratching his head. "I think I recognise the emperor's wood elf ranger "friend" down there with 'em, too."

"Ya mean the waystalker? Well, the captain says the knife-ear can come and go if she wants. Don't know about her mates, though..."

"Oh, by Kurnous' bloody horns..." Aureleth disentangled herself from Luitpold and stomped off closer to the walls. "You worthless idiots! Open these shoddy gates right this instant! Don't make me climb up there and kill you! I'll put you down like the short-lived dogs you are!"

"Uhh, Ambroos? The elf's gettin' aggressive." The first sentry said to his colleague. "Erm, she's up and drawn her bow... an' now she's reachin' for her quiver..."

"Oh? Well, uh, just... just open the gates, then. No need t' escalate things..." Came the meek response.

And with that, the gates too New Praag parted aside, allowing access to the settlement for the Aureleth and the three Imperials.

"You there! Trooper!" The Reiksguard knight escorting the siblings beckoned to the soldier in charge of the gate sentries, the one called Ambroos. "His Imperial highness, Luitpold II, has been severely wounded, and requires the aid of a healer. Take as many of your men as you can and deliver one to us as quickly as possible. Get to it, soldier!"

Trooper Ambroos spared only one look at Luitpold before shocked recognition dawned on his face. He was quick to banish any lingering feelings of drowsiness and saluted the knight, although sloppily. "Y-yes, as ye wish, sir knight! Come on, lads, let's find our prince a bleedin' healer!"

"Help me lay him down somewhere! Quickly now, you sloths!" The knight then shouted, jolting Ambroos' remaining men into action. Luitpold, barely awake from blood loss and exhaustion, did not protest as the soldiers carried him off his feet and put him down on a table previously cleared of empty bottles and meagre piles of Imperial crowns.

Aureleth sighed as she turned away from the scene. "There's nothing more we can do for your brother, child. I suggest you find a place to rest." She said to Sieghilde.

The princess spared a concerned glance down her brother's way, then turned to her elven protector. "And where are you headed?"

The waystalker narrowed her eyes at her. "I do not see how that is your concern. But if you must know, I intend to report my "success" to Karl Franz, such as it is."

"You don't sound pleased. Were you not you tasked with getting Luitpold and I to safety? We're not dead, as you can see." Sieghilde said.

The waystalker shook her head. "It's not as simple as that, child. You are no longer in danger from your pursuers now, yes, but your brother has been gravely injured, and his life is still in the hands of the gods. And do you recall when I told you that I have another task beyond these gates?"

"It had something to do with the other elf, I'd wager. Kerillian." Sieghilde frowned, saying the waywatcher's name with some distaste.

Aureleth looked at Sieghilde with mild surprise. "You are sharper than you look, child."

"It was easy enough to guess. After all, you're both elves." Sieghilde adopted a haughty look.

"Have a care not to let your pride overtake you, especially now that you humans are on the verge of losing everything you've worked for to a bunch of woodland barbarians." Aureleth riposted, then changed the subject before the child could reply. "But yes, you are correct in your "clever" assumption. Kerillian is... a person of interest, I should say. Karl Franz also tasked me with her capture, but all my efforts including that of several others of my kind have borne no fruit."

"Well, I suppose I should wish you better fortune in the future, after having rendered us a service." The princess nodded. "On another note, since you're already heading to see father, I'd like to come with you. I shall find the time to speak with him, if it's possible."

The waystalker shrugged. "So be it. Know that I walk at a brisk pace; stay close and try not to fall too far behind."

"I can keep up just fine, elf," Sieghilde frowned. "Don't mind the skirts. I've tripped over them only once or twice."

* * *

 **SIEGHILDE**

The Kislev-Empire settlement of New Praag reminded Fürstin Sieghilde von Holswig-Schliesten much of Nordland's more frontier towns and hamlets, but she also compared it to some of the forts and castle-towns she spent time in, back in the Old World.

Everywhere she looked, there were citizens from all over the Empire and Kislev, with most looking quite productive as they went on about their crafts and businesses. As Sieghilde followed after her elven escort, she came across merchants from Marienburg, Hochland and Reikland and forges and ironworks manned by Nordlanders, Middenlanders, dwarfs and Kislevites. There were also quite a few tanners, fisheries, work-shacks and butcher shops staffed by Hochlanders, Ostagoths and halflings, and even what appeared to be an antique shop with a single, strikingly elvish proprietor — an asur, from the fine cut of his robes and the primness of his bearing.

Upon seeing Sieghilde's waystalker companion marching along the front of his shop, the high elven antiquarian stepped a bit further outside and casually gave his asrai "cousin" a cheery wave of his hand.

"Good day, kinswoman!"

The waystalker stared at the other elf, but kept her temper in check and resumed her march, quickening her stride until the antiquarian was well out of sight.

Of course, for every commoner Sieghilde observed plying their trade or simply loitering about, there appeared to be four or five soldiers either drilling or patrolling the streets. State troops wearing colours from Reikland, Middenland, Ostland and Nordland seemed to occupy every corner of the settlement, along with full-plated knights and the odd dwarf warrior here and there.

"This is what my father and his troops have been doing all this time," Sieghilde muttered. "Building a frontier settlement out in the middle of a frozen wasteland?"

"They had no choice if they did not want to die from the cold." The waystalker replied, off-handedly. Her eyes wandered all around her surroundings, seemingly finding them odd. "I've only been a few weeks away, but it seems as though the number of mayflies had doubled since before I left..."

The elf's eyes quickly narrowed as her mouth twisted into a scowl. "And that Ulthuani scunner — he had the nerve to call me his kin! Ugh, I could scarce believe that Lileath might have had a hand in placing his witless kind here."

Reaching the emperor's estate took Sieghilde and the waystalker half an hour. The state of father's lodgings surprised the princess — it was as plain and spartan as it could be, and looked more like a general's simple field headquarters, albeit larger and roomier than usual. This appearance was further accentuated by the presence of several Reiksguard knights and handgunners standing guard around the area.

"Child, allow me to deliver my report first," The waystalker suddenly spoke up. In response to Sieghilde's annoyed expression, she continued, "Once Karl Franz sees you, he will be overcome with emotion as you short-lifers usually do. I will not have the time to speak with him, then."

"Do you even know the emperor? I only ever saw him smiling once or twice, and I'm his daughter." Sieghilde neglected to add that she rarely had time to spend with her father, busy as he was with the burden of reigning over a province and the Empire it formed a part of.

The elf actually seemed to consider this. "Hm, a fair point. But still, I cannot leave this to chance. For what it's worth, know that I will not take too long."

Sieghilde frowned and glared at the elf. Back in Altdorf, she only had to look menacing to someone to get what she wanted.

Suffice it to say that she was a long way from Altdorf. "Is that face a sign of an impending stroke, or merely your impression of how a beastman looks? Either way, I'm taking my leave of you, now. Try not to freeze to death while I'm gone."

The waystalker turned around and was a step forward to the door, when it suddenly opened outward, very nearly knocking her to the ground if it weren't for her inhuman reflexes.

"Hmm? Oh, my apologies, elf, I didn't know you were behind this door."

Even with a bushier beard, a mutilated ear, and a few more scars on his face, Sieghilde almost instantly recognised Elector Count Valmir von Raukov as he stepped out of her father's lodgings, then closed the door behind him.

"As a matter of fact, I didn't know you've returned to the settlement in the first place. Am I not wrong to assume you have come to report to Emperor Franz?"

"Aye, very observant of you." The elf answered with some disdain, not bothering to make eye contact with von Raukov. She tried to walk past the count, only for him to block her path a second time. "Ugh, if you'll excuse me, mayfly, I must—"

"You're wasting your time. Notice how there are no knights standing guard beside this door? The emperor is not here." Von Raukov said, shaking his head.

"Oh? Well, would you _kindly_ inform me of his whereabouts then, if it's not too much trouble?" The waystalker spoke with mock-politeness, her irreverence toward von Raukov apparent to Sieghilde.

"This report of yours had better be important," The count folded his arms and frowned, sounding none too pleased at her disrespectful tone. "Emperor Franz had announced earlier in the day that none except his physicians and the Cult of Shallya may interrupt him for anything but emergencies."

"His physicians? And the... Cult of Shallya?" The waystalker seemed baffled, all the sudden. "Why would he... has he been struck ill? Him, of all you frail short-lifers in this hovel?"

The elector count nodded gravely. "None had anticipated it, not even the astromancers. A week from now, he went down with a strange condition that our healers could not identify. We suspected he might have been poisoned, but the Jade Order believed otherwise. For a while, we began to fear that he was on his way to Morr's embrace."

At this point, Sieghilde couldn't stay back any longer. "I... what became of my father?" She stepped forward, unbidden tears beginning to pool in her eyes.

It was then that von Raukov noticed Sieghilde. In her dishevelled state, he did not seem to recognise her at first, until he saw the Imperial seal around her neck.

"Your imperial highness..." Upon recollecting his wits, the elector count sunk to his knees and dipped his head low to Sieghilde, before looking back up. "Praise Sigmar, our prayers have been answered! Mere words cannot describe my elation to see you alive and well, I cannot believe it is truly you, my lady! Gods alive, the rest of the settlement must hear of thi—"

Sieghilde blinked the tears from her eyes. "Answer me, you old fool!" She practically shouted, hands balled into fists at her sides. "What happened to my father?"

"Please... please forgive me, meine Fürstin," The elector count pulled himself back up on his feet as he regained his composure. "Emperor Franz almost died that night, but since then, he has been steadily recovering. The Shallyans just recently allowed him to participate in practice duels and martial exercises to regain some of his strength. He should be at the drillyards east of the settlement now, should you wish to see him."

"I suppose that's where we're headed." The waystalker sighed. Turning to Sieghilde, she said, "Come along now, child. We shouldn't tarry here for long."

The princess used her ragged sleeve to wipe her eyes. Ignoring the steadily-growing crowd of astounded guards coming to gawk at her, she stepped away from von Raukov and started walking after the elf without another word.

It took another while for the two of them to arrive on the other end of the settlement. Upon reaching the drillyards, sure enough, they found Emperor Franz at the centre of it, engaged in a practice duel with what Sieghilde recognised as Ludwig Schwarzhelm, more or less. All around the two men, a mismatched circle of army surgeons and physicians, Shallyan priestesses both young and old, and magisters clad in green robes either quietly observed the emperor and his champion as they fought, chatted among themselves in incomprehensible medical jargon, or jotted down notes as though they were students observing an object of their study.

Seeing her father alive and on his feet sent waves of pure joy and relief radiating throughout Sieghilde's body, like a crushing burden had just been lifted from her shoulders. True enough to what von Raukov had said, however, Karl Franz looked like he was just recently struck down by a debilitating illness, what with his pale skin, the sunken cheek-bones on his face, and the exhausted, somewhat hopeless expression he sported as he deflected another blow from Schwarzhelm and shuffled well back, away from his opponent.

"Again!" Franz shouted as he adjusted his stance and footwork, his breath steaming in the cold northerly air. "I will not have you hold back against me this time, Schwarzhelm. Fight me, and fight as though I am nought but a free folk barbarian, or a northlander heretic! Your emperor commands it!"

Schwarzhelm clearly appeared reluctant, but he bowed his head obediently. "As you wish it, your majesty." Sieghilde hardly expected then, when the emperor's champion suddenly lunged forward, his sword already midway to striking down his own liege.

Franz was prepared for the attack, so he parried it accordingly. Unwilling to let the blow remain unanswered, the emperor shifted his defensive posture and moved to strike his champion through the opening he made in his guard, only to overextend himself and be sent reeling by an underhanded jab to the face from Schwarzhelm's mailed fist.

"Guh!" Franz wiped the blood dripping from the cut Schwarzhelm made on his cheek. Despite this, he was quick to put up his own sword and appeared ready to continue to duel.

Schwarzhelm, on the other hand, appeared shocked at what he had done, showing much more emotion than he usually did around Sieghilde. "My emperor, I must apologise. You were moving too slow. It was a reflex, I didn't mean to—"

"Enough!" Franz punished the champion's hesitance by raising his blade to slash at his side. Caught off-guard, Schwarzhelm reflexibly moved to evade the blow completely, only to be met with a swift, overhead strike from an unexpected angle when Franz's initial attack proved to be a feint. Were he wearing anything less than dwarf-forged platemail armour, the champion would've lost an arm by the shoulder.

"Gods preserve me, you are still holding back!" The emperor all but screamed, with genuine anguish in his voice. Franz looked as though he was about to say more, when his face paled even more, and his legs suddenly gave out from under him, forcing the emperor to use his zweihänder to support his weight, lest he fall forward on his face.

Sieghilde decided she had seen enough. "Get out of the way! Move! I command it!" Without a second thought, the princess rushed forward to her father, causing those in her way to stand aside, startled by her presence.

"Is that... do my eyes play cruel tricks on me? This... this cannot be!"

"Shallya's tears, it's... it's truly her! Our princess yet lives!"

"Princess Sieghilde! Princess Sieghilde! Her imperial highness is among us!"

Sieghilde's father remained on his knees as she approached him, his wide-eyed face transfixed in an expression of pure shock and wonder. His mouth quivered as he reached out to her with a gauntleted hand, as though not quite believing what he was seeing.

The princess shivered as she felt the emperor's cold, metallic hand over her shoulder, then her hair, then the side of her face. The urge to burst into tears then and there was overwhelming, but she kept strong. A true daughter of the Empire conducts herself with decorum, and shows no weakness, especially in the presence of her emperor and his subjects.

"My... my child... mine own blood..." Franz brushed away a glossy raven lock from his daughter's face, his voice filled with awe and fading disbelief. "You... how could this be?"

His eyes and his face conveyed a mixture of a dozen emotions, though regret and shame seemed the most powerful. "How can... h-how can you be standing _here_ , of all places — right before me, your unworthy sire? I was afraid I've already failed you and all I hold dear! This... this cannot truly—"

"Enough, father." Sieghilde moved to help the emperor up to stand. "You are unwell. The last thing you need is to exert yourself in these silly duels, and you know I'm right. Come, we should return to your lodgings so you can rest."

Franz was struck silent for a long while, mirroring his subjects around him. When he spoke, his voice carried palpable relief, as though a great pain was lifted from his many burdens.

"It... truly is you. My child... my beautiful, devoted Sieghilde." He sounded on the verge of tears himself, but only for a moment. As though regaining some of his lost strength, the emperor rose to stand, with even a bit of colour returning to his face. "Yes... I see that perhaps some rest would do my humours good."

Some of the healers gathered around the duel stepped forward to object, only to be collectively silenced by a withering glare from the emperor. With nary a word of dismissal, he let his daughter lead him away from the crowd of healers, with Schwarzhelm up front and clearing their way.

"I'm just happy to see that you are alive, father." The princess said as she strode past the parted crowd of healers with her emperor, arm in arm. "I've missed you dearly... as did Luitpold, I'm sure. But the three of us cannot talk just yet, in your condition. And before you ask — yes, Luitpold is here in this settlement, wounded from battle, but alive."

At the mention of his firstborn, Sieghilde could tell her father had to take a brief moment to stop and calm himself. "Luitpold..." He muttered, almost darkly. "Luitpold is here as well?" After recomposing himself, he immediately rounded on her. "Verena's eyes, girl, you should have told me immediately! Come, we should see to him at once!"

Before Franz could say another word, Sieghilde pressed against him, blocking his path. "Please, father. There will be time enough for that, but we must see to it that you are well first, especially at a time like this."

"And I am compelled to agree." Sieghilde wasn't surprised to see the waystalker ambling by, cutting in uninvited. What _was_ surprising, was that neither Schwarzhelm nor any one of the nearby knights hadn't acted to keep the heavily-armed elf from placing herself so close to their liege. "What happened to you, human? What manner of mayfly illness had you hovering so close to death?"

"Aureleth," Franz actually seemed glad to see the ranger as he acknowledged her presence. "I suppose I have you to thank for returning my daughter... and my son, to me?"

"I only did as you asked," The elf sounded nonchalant. "And you can thank me by answering my question. I'll never live it down to see my charge struck down by a gods-cursed disease after all this time."

The emperor let out a breath. His face was set in an impassive stare ahead, but his voice conveyed his gratitude well enough. "You've done the Empire and myself a great service, elf, one that I shan't forget until my dying breath. But to answer your question, I do not believe it was a disease. I... I feel as though it may be a curse of some kind, one that robbed me of most of the "gifts" your Lileath had bestowed upon me."

Sieghilde looked up to Franz. "There is that name again — Lileath. The wood elf mentioned her, on our way here. What has that heathen goddess done to you, father?"

"Watch your blasphemous mouth, girl. I will not have you disrespect the Moonmaiden." The elven wench snapped, drawing an outraged look from the princess. She even had the nerve to ignore her completely to focus on the emperor. "How can you tell your condition had any links to Lileath at all?"

"Sieghilde, I'm sorry, but let the two of us talk for now." To the princess' further consternation, her father even sided against her. "Because, waystalker, I have not felt as frail, as mundane... as _human_ , as I do now, ever since Lileath had made me her champion. For the first time in more than a year, I have not heard the summons, and my mind is as clear as could be."

Karl Franz took a deep breath, and sighed. "I feel... as though the shackles of your goddess no longer bind me, Aureleth. I must have fallen out of her favour somehow."

Sieghilde did as an obedient daughter would and kept her mouth shut and tried not to eavesdrop as her father and his wood elf "retainer" spoke back and forth about things she could scarce comprehend, even as they started down the settlement again. The chattering went on until they reached the emperor's estate, where a certain elector count and dozens upon dozens of the settlement's inhabitants had since gathered, perhaps hearing of the siblings' sudden appearance.

"You've given me many things to consider, Karl Franz... but if what you say is indeed true, then we are worse for it." The waystalker shook her head. "The fact remains that we stand at the brink of an all-out war with the free folk. You lead this settlement, and your people need you to be strong, now more than ever."

Aureleth — that was apparently her name — let out a breath, clearly disappointed. "But I fail to see that now, considering your performance in your little organised spat with your champion."

The emperor grumbled, displeased. "I need not the "blessings" of your scheming goddess, waystalker. The Empire will endure, and this time, it will be through faith, through steel, and through fire and gunpowder... the way it was always meant to be."

He waved aside a group of soldiers blocking the way to his lodgings. "We will discuss more on the morrow, elf. Once again, I owe you a great debt for rescuing my children, but I have no further need from you at the moment. Go and rest... you are dismissed."

"By the gods," Aureleth stopped him from walking further with a hand on his armoured shoulder. "You are as stubborn as a vengeful forest spirit, Karl Franz, but at least consider my offer to train you at a more regular pace. You did not need it overmuch then, but you do now, for true."

Franz turned to the side. "That... can be arranged. Yes, I agree."

The elf retracted her hand, thoroughly ignoring the dirty looks Sieghilde was giving her. "Then I am glad. We can work things out from there, I hope. Rest well, human."

Emperor Franz brought a gauntleted fist to his chest in a weary salute. Blessedly, he had nothing more to say to Aureleth. "Come, Sieghilde. I imagine you have as many questions for me as I have for you."

"I do," The princess nodded as she opened the door for her father. "But they can wait. For now... rest."

* * *

 **VON HOLSWIG-SCHLIESTEN**

And rest he did. Franz objected to having Sieghilde cook for and watch over him come the night, but his dutiful child had been adamant. After a bowl of eel soup and a glass of Grenzstadter White, Franz was fast asleep in his bed, untroubled by phantasmal voices and comfortable under the watchful eye of his long-lost daughter. It was the best sleep he ever had in years.

Come the morning, Franz awoke to the sight of Sieghilde slumped on her chair, snoring faintly. With a smile on his face, he stood up and prepared himself to face another day as the emperor of what could very well be the last remnants of Sigmar's Empire.

"Hail, emperor." One of Franz's inner circle knights saluted his liege as the latter ambled out of his lodgings and into the open, blessed with a healthier complexion and an obvious spring in his sure-footed gait.

"At ease, sir knight," Franz greeted back, not at all bothered by the elite knight's slightly-slouched posture. "You've anything to report?"

"Erm, well... there seems to be a commotion happening at the Magran supply depot, mein Kaiser. Something about a mob of refugees making a fuss and demanding more out of their meal rations." The knight said, trying and failing to right his stance. "Argh... at least, that's what I've heard from the handgunners passing by just then. Would you like to assemble a cohort to assess this situation?"

"Yes, of course." The emperor replied, turning to the side. "Alert Reikscaptain de Brie and direct her to this... situation. I will await her report as soon as the incident is resolved."

"At once, mein Kaiser." The man saluted, finally managing to right himself. He gestured for his fellow knights milling about. "Right then, chaps, form up on me. Never thought I'd say this, but let's go find us a Reiksguard with teats."

Franz didn't stay to watch them leave. After securing a horse and summoning his usual roster of mounted Reiksguard protectors, he immediately made his way into the settlement proper, whereupon he eventually stopped before New Praag's newly-constructed Temple of Shallya near the southwestern inner palisade. Normally frequented only by priestesses, novice physicians looking to get some experience, and those in need of either healing or blessings from the goddess of mercy and compassion, the temple was suspiciously crowded with soldiers and smallfolk who clearly had no business standing around a place of worship and recovery.

"By the order of Karl Franz, clear out and return to your homes and postings!" One of Franz's Reiksguard companions cried out to those gathered around from atop his barded destrier.

Most of the state troops had the decency to look ashamed as they dispersed on their own, but some of the civilians took a while to leave, and required a bit more convincing. "Go on, you pox-faced dove-fanciers, get out of the way! Move aside, before we ride the lot of you down like our mates did in the Altdorf window tax riots!"

The crowd dispersed soon after. With his path eventually cleared, Emperor Franz took a deep breath before dismounting and crossing the threshold into the infirmary, where he and his escorts were greeted by the sight of more people on their way out, followed by relieved-looking women in white robes and fur-trimmed cloaks.

"The Cult of Shallya bids you welcome, Emperor Franz." The elderly Shallyan matron in charge of the infirmary greeted Franz and his bodyguards as they stepped forth. "We thank you for disposing of the noisy rabble congregating around our temple, but unless I am mistaken, you are here for the same reason as they... are you?"

Franz stepped aside and let his men speak for him.

"Just show us where he is, priestess." One of the Reiksguards, the most senior of the lot, uttered.

"Sehr gut. We've been expecting you." The white-robed old woman dipped a solemn bow, seemingly not noticing or uncaring of the knight's urgent tone. She palmed at the dove pendant hanging from her neck, then turned to a smiling, fresher-faced subordinate beside her.

"Sister Junya, the time has come. Lead the emperor and his men into the infirmary at once. Remember to keep quiet around our other supplicants; we do _not_ wish a repeat of last night's events."

"Right, of course..." Sister Junya nodded, seemingly more to herself than anything. Fortunately, her smiling face and eager-to-please demeanour returned as soon as she looked up to Franz and his Reiksguard.

"Welcome, and thank you for gracing me with your presence, dear emperor." She spoke with a blatantly obvious, false Reiklander lilt, and with every word she spoke, the more her Couronnian upbringing became plain to see. "It would be my honour to assist you in any way I can."

The matron unsubtly rolled her eyes at that, as older Shallyans tend to do now and then. "And make haste, initiate. Might I remind that you still have other work catch up on?"

Junya seemed to pretend not to hear her superior as she began walking deeper into the infirmary. "Eh-heh, right this way, my lords."

As Franz and the Reiksguard made their way through the temple, passing by surprised Shallyan priestesses and their patients, the only other von Holswig-Schliesten nearby passed the time while waiting for his own injuries to heal through meditation and magical reflection.

Lying on his back, still and as quiet as could be, Prince Luitpold breathed in and out in an irregular rhythm as he passively channelled what little of the Winds swirling around the area into his near-depleted magical reserves. In doing so, he steadfastly ignored the incessant noises coming from the people around him.

"It is your turn, merchant." The prince's Reiksguard companion — whose name still eluded everyone — finished moving a wooden piece on the board he shared with half a dozen others, mostly other patients. "And do hurry up this time."

A short-statured Tilean man with a bandaged face grunted as he made use of his turn. Slowly. "I'll take as much time as I damn well want, Reiklander. I take this game seriously. Keep to yourself and show some patience."

The man next to the Tilean, allegedly one of the handful of survivors from Axebite Pass' local Knights of the Blazing Sun garrison, folded his arms across his scarred, barrel-chested torso. "If it weren't for the fact that you take five entire minutes to decide on your next move when most would do with one, I'd agree with you. Now hurry it up, the match's pace is beginning to bore me."

"You bloody Imperials, hmph. Always siding together against hapless foreigners." The fourth player on the board, a woman with an amputated right leg and an obvious, upper-class Marienburg accent pitched in, turning up her nose at the pair of knights.

"This "siding together" — as you so put — is how the Empire survived war after war all this time, milady." The Reiksguard knight studiously kept his helmed gaze toward the pieces on the board.

A third man, a broad-shouldered Bretonnian with a pair of casts cradling both his thick, musclebound arms, heaved out a mocking laugh. "Oui, that is true. A damned shame that you pig-fuckers forgot about that at the worst possible time, and started stabbing each other in the back instead."

Luitpold winced at that, almost shaken out of his concentration. He opened his eyes to look at the Bretonnian, only to see the Blazing Sun knight glowering at him from across the board. "You speak of matters you know very little about, mercenary scum. Say stupid things like that again, and I'll have your horse-licking tongue."

As for Luitpold's faceless protector, he only let out a weary sigh. "The Bretonnian speaks true, brother, for the elector counts have indeed let their rivalries and mistrust for one another overcome them, and their mistake costed the rest of the Empire dearly."

The Reiksguard knight shook his head. "But not all is lost. For so long as the sons of Sigmar yet live, our nation has never fallen. We will endure, and we will rebuild... as is our way since the beginning."

"Well said, sir knight."

Every person in the room turned their head to where they heard the emperor's distinctive baritone. Luitpold's eyes grew wide and his face blanched in shock at the sight of his father stepping into the sickbay in his usual set of black gromril plates minus the helmet, accompanied by more Reiksguards and a single novice priestess of Shallya.

"Mein Kaiser! Thank the gods..." Luitpold's knightly escort, although clearly just as surprised as the prince, immediately stood to attention. He was then followed by most of the men in the room, excluding those too wounded to stand. "I did the best I could to safeguard the your children. May I have your permission to return to your service?"

"To have you with us is a great honour, sir knight." Franz bowed his head, a gesture he rarely ever made to those below him. "The Empire owes you a great debt for staying with your prince, and keeping him safe."

Luitpold's surprise went away soon after, slowly giving way to a deep-seated resentment he had been coldly nursing ever since he came of age. "My name is _Luitpold_ , father. Or have you already forgotten that during your time here?"

His imperial majesty had the decency to wince. For a moment, Luitpold even thought he would say something remorseful for all those dreadful years he had to endure, living a dreary, heavily-disciplined existence in his court before being unceremoniously shunted off to the Light Order the moment his ability to harness the White Winds manifested.

Instead of that, the prince found himself on the receiving end of Emperor Karl Franz's withering, all-too-familiar glare. "Make no mistake; I may be your father, but I am also your emperor. Use that impudent tone with me in front of my subjects again, and I will show you just how far my memory extends. Am I understood, boy?"

Luitpold knew well enough to avoid a verbal confrontation with his father — fourteen years spent living under his shadow taught him that Franz hit with words almost as hard as he did with a hammer or a sword. "...yes, father."

Mollified somewhat, Franz's voice softened a bit. "Good..."

An awkward silence descended upon the room. Luitpold shifted uneasily on his bed as Franz wordlessly studied him, with a blank, unreadable look on his face. Perhaps it was only until one of the other patients belted out a wet cough that he suddenly remembered that there were people still standing painfully straight in attention all around.

"Be at ease." The emperor said at once, much to the relief of the men. As they slowly returned to what they were doing previously, his imperial majesty gestured at the only Reiksguard in the room not in his retinue. "Come along, sir knight. You must be eager to rejoin your fellows."

Luitpold felt a pang of sadness to see his sole surviving Reiksguard enthusiastically marching off to be among his brothers once more, though he always knew he shouldn't be too surprised.

Franz spent a few more moments examining his son. "I trust that you will make a full recovery in due time?" He had the gall to ask, as though worried about Luitpold's condition.

Luitpold couldn't tell if he was being sincere, but his clumsy attempt at conveying paternal concern annoyed him nonetheless. "I will return to my duties soon enough, father. Worry not."

"I see." Franz nodded tersely. "Well... good. That is good. Rest, then, and I shall await your return."

The prince stifled the urge to roll his eyes. "Is there anything else, your majesty?"

Franz seemed deep in thought as he took a while to register the question. He opened his mouth to say something, when he was interrupted by the sudden appearance of dwarfs outfitted in the field attire of Cousin Okrundsson's rangers, looking quite exhausted and breathless from a long run.

"Hold on there, dwarf comrades!" One of the emperor's knights held up a gauntleted hand before the newcomers could approach any closer. "You've come to seek an audience with the emperor, I take it?"

"Aye... that we do. Heh, sorry to bother ye, manling." The veteran ranger at the front of his group struggled to catch his breath, but nevertheless, he brought a fist to his mailed chest in a weary salute.

Franz let out a breath, turned away from Luitpold, and gestured for his knights to let Okrundsson's men approach him. "Find a seat and speak freely, dwarf. Sister Junya, would you mind fetching our guests something to drink, if you'd please?"

"O-oh, I do not mind at all, of course! One moment, my lords." The only priestess in Franz's retinue hurriedly snatched a nearby bucket a patient had been using as a washbowl and wasted no time rushing outside.

As soon as the priestess returned with a bucket of spring water, and the dwarfs were comfortably seated, the veteran ranger from earlier began to speak,

"Time is not something we have too much of, so I'll just say what needs to be said." The dwarf politely refused a flagon of water from Junya, and pulled out a flask of beer from his backpack instead. "We spotted another free folk raiding party heading this way from the woods due west."

"This is hardly an uncommon occurence, ranger." Another of Franz's men shook his head and folded his armoured arms. "You should've reported this to Captain Adalhard's artillery detachment, instead. The emperor has much more urgent matters to tend to than yet another bunch of suicidal barbarians."

The dwarf frowned. "Let me finish, manling." He downed a gulp from his flask before wiping his mouth and continuing, "We also spotted a few of your witch hunters rubbing shoulders with the savages, along with what looked like plate-armoured knights on horseback carrying banners with pitchforks sewn into them."

Karl Franz blinked. "Pitchforks? Perhaps you mean tridents." He looked to the side, his mind seemingly elsewhere. "I recall going over a report of a force of templars departing the settlement to escort a group of Bretonnians on a scouting mission, but I never expected them to return in the company of free folk."

"Mayhaps they've been intercepted by the northlanders and taken prisoner, milord?" Someone, either one of the knights or one of the patients, suggested.

The emperor seemed to consider this. He looked to the dwarfs again. "Are you certain of what you saw?"

"Positive, emperor. I swear by Grungni's horn." The veteran ranger replied, nodding his head.

Franz dipped his head to the dwarf. "My thanks, dwarf. Tell the quartermasters you've permission to have doubled alcohol rations for the rest of this fortnight. This goes the same for those who accompanied you out there."

At this, the dwarfs were elated. They lingered to relay more information and say their thanks before packing up and leaving, presumably to spend their rewards on the nearest alehouse.

"I will see to this situation myself." Franz also wasted little time preparing to leave. "Come, Reiksguard, let us depart."

"Shallya watch over you, and be careful out there!" Sister Junya called out to them.

Luitpold sighed and let his shoulders sag as the emperor and his men took their leave and began filing out of the room. He was ready to abandon his meditation and submit himself to the blissful oblivion of sleep, when he noticed Franz lingering near the room's exit by himself, quietly staring at him.

"Father?" The prince arched a brow. His head already beginning to ache at the sight of him.

"We will talk more at a later time, Luitpold." The emperor said, after a while. His words were solemn, a bit more subdued than the prince had grown used to. "But before I leave, know this,"

He looked down to the floor and closed his eyes. "We are in the middle of a cold war with the natives of this world, and the odds have never been more grim." When he reopened them, Luitpold couldn't help but notice the subtle glow that came over them. "Whatever should happen in the next few weeks, I need you to protect your sister at any cost. You and Sieghilde... the two of you are all I have left."

With that said, the emperor turned on his heel and marched off, and out of sight, leaving a wide-eyed Luitpold to ponder at his words.

* * *

 **THE FREE FOLK**

"You do not talk overmuch, do you?" Val observed, her head tilted slightly to the side in unbashed curiosity.

The broad-shouldered, skull-helmed Imperial in the enormous suit of weathered black platemail looked down and directed his helmed gaze at the spearwife addressing her.

"..." Predictably, he said nothing and made no sound, although he took the courtesy to slow down so as to match Val's more elegant strides.

"I see." Val smiled, amused. Up close, she could see clearly the skulls, scythes, flowers, and ravens embossed into his armour with a master metalcrafter's hand, along with the glossy black feathers artfully incorporated along the collar and the spaulders. "I take it then, ser, that you have other means of speaking?"

"Hrmm, hm." The black knight nodded stiffly, then raised a thick, trunk-like metal arm to point somewhere ahead of the wildling. "Hmph."

Val turned her head to where the Imperial was pointing, and found his comrades marching alongside her fellow free folk defectors. The woman known as Eloise von Mannstedt and her followers seemed strangely undaunted by Wun Wun looming at them from behind or the fact that they were surrounded at all sides by their former enemies, and indeed, every once in a while, the man in the tall hat and the soldier lass with the pair of scarves around her neck seemed content to make small talk with some of her people, or each other.

"You have others speak for you."

"Mrghm."

"Interesting." Val smiled politely, like a southron noblewoman would. "Although I wonder... what do you offer to them in return?"

The black knight belted out an abrupt, distorted chuckle, as though equal parts annoyed and amused. He propped up the strange, oversized crossbow he was holding in his hands, and held it over with outstretched arms in an offering gesture, wordlessly imploring Val to take it.

Arching a brow, the spearwife slowly and delicately put her hands on the outlander's weapon. He offered no resistance as Val took it away from his metal hands.

For her part, Val was astounded at how heavy the crossbow was. She could hardly keep carrying it for more than half a minute as the burning in her arms became too much to bear. Grimacing, she returned the weapon to its mute owner before she was forced to drop it.

"You are strong, ser knight," Val said. Indeed, the Imperial hefted his weapon effortlessly in his arms, and carried it with comfort and surety as a hunter would his favourite spear. With another, more subdued chuckle, the knight pried open the top of his crossbow and revealed the array of complicated mechanisms and quarrel rows stored within, explaining the weapon's cumbersome weight. "Such a curious device. Your outlander ways never cease to fascinate..."

The Imperial stared at the spearwife, his expression hidden within his skull-faced greathelm. With surprising deftness, he plucked at one of the quarrels inside his weapon, fluffed out the fletching a bit with his thumb and forefinger, then presented it to Val.

"Hrrmm." He nodded as Val received his "gift", which resembled a metallic wildflower because of the unruly, multicoloured fletching.

"Why, thank you, kind ser." Val affected a coy giggle, a rather out-of-character act that did not fail to catch the attentions of some of her nearby fellows.

"Well, what've we 'ere, sister?" Longspear Ryk casually ambled by and began marching in pace with the two. "We're not one foot into the Empire's village, and you've already plans t' steal one o' their knights. Dalla was right — what ye lack for sense, ye make up for in guts."

Val rolled her eyes at her fellow defector, but couldn't quite keep a conspiratorial smirk from appearing on her mouth as she pocketed the quarrel. "Be bold in all things, and perhaps you will be leading your own people someday."

Ryk grinned lopsidedly at the thought of being a leader of his own tribe. "A warm hearth an' a dozen bosomy women will do... but I can settle for that, aye." He then looked up and down at the knight beside Val, and nodded in seeming appreciation. "This one looks like he'll suit ye more'n well. I'm already afeared thinkin' o' the monstrous whelps the two o' ye would make."

The mixed band of defecting free folk and their new foreign allies continued on their way through the forest for another few hours. Val kept a constant eye on the Imperials leading the way at the front as she and her people followed. The spearwife could hear some of the more impatient members of her group beginning to complain about the suspicious length of the journey to Hardhome, when the leader of the Imperials suddenly stopped in her tracks and held up a clenched fist.

"Stop!" She cried out as she turned to look behind her shoulder. "Take a break. We'll hold here for now."

Most of the free folk relaxed, grateful for the relief from marching in formation, which was something they were clearly unused to. Val, however, had questions for her Imperial comrades. After helping a family of eight recollect their younger members, the spearwife moved up to address the Imperials.

"Wolfhard, alarmiere die Wachen. Nicht zu lange dauern." Val found their leader addressing her compatriot while gesturing at the path ahead, which was obscured by thick vegetation and towering mounds of snow.

"Ja, ja." From the tone of his voice, the Imperial wearing the tall hat sounded bored. "Aber sicher doch, mein—"

"Geh jetzt, du Idiot! Mach schnell!" Her hands clenched into fists at her side, and her face scrunched up in annoyance, the woman stomped her foot into the snow in a petulant manner.

"Heh, heh." Smirking mischievously, the man pulled out his strange weapon and hurried away, "Oh, nein, nein, neeein! Sein Reich muss größer sein!" He could be heard singing in a mocking tune as he promptly vanished from sight behind the trees ahead.

The Imperial leader uttered a disgusted noise as she pinched the bridge of her nose. Shrugging, Val, chose this moment to make her approach.

"The path you've taken us is most peculiar." The spearwife began, alerting the foreigner to her presence. "I am sure we would have already arrived at Hardhome long ago, had you so wished."

The woman nodded, wiping under her nose. "That is correct." She did not seem too concerned for the suspicious tone Val had used. "If I had us take a more direct path, we would have made it there an hour from now, I believe."

"So why haven't you?" Val leaned forward slightly, placing her hands on her flared hips.

The Imperial smiled, an unexpected reaction. "If only it's as simple as that, meine Frau."

She gestured ahead, towards the path where her similarly-dressed comrade disappeared into. "This route has the least amount of traps and wards that could endanger us, especially those who are unaware of them. Here, I can expect most of your men to make it to Neupraag without stumbling into a pit fixed with sharpened stakes, or a concealed explosive charge."

Val conceded that she hadn't thought of such a thing. "I see your people have not been idle."

"We've made it so that even a horde of Mance Rayder's mongrels would sustain heavy losses before they could even approach our settlement." There was a proud, almost anticipatory glint in the Imperial's green eyes. "Be glad, wildling, that you have chosen to be behind our side of the walls."

It didn't take too long for the Imperial leader's comrade to return, and this time, he wasn't alone. Behind him, a half dozen foreign soldiers dressed in flamboyant, fur-trimmed uniforms typical of Imperials visibly gawked at the presence of so many free folk in their midst.

"Wolfhard," The woman Val had conversed with earlier greeted her kin with a nod. "Endlich bist du hier."

"Yes, Eloise, I'm back." Perhaps out of his concern for Val nearby, the man responded in Imperial-accented Common. "These chaps didn't believe me when I said we were followed by a band of defecting free folk, so I had to take them with me before we could proceed."

The Imperial leader, Eloise, narrowed her eyes at the group of soldiers behind the man, apparently named Wolfhard. "Well, are you yokels satisfied with what you see? What about you, sergeant — am I able to trust your underlings _not_ to shoot us as we come marching past their posts?"

"Erm... vell, ja, it seems ve are wrong to doubt your brozzer, Fräulein von Mannstedt. Vergib uns für unsere Dummheit..." One of the sentries said, his accent was much heavier than Eloise or Wolfhard's, almost to the point of indecipherability.

"That settles that," Eloise sighed, then turned to Val beside her. "Gather your people, wildling, and remember not to make any sudden moves. We are about to come within effective handgun range."

Within moments, Val had her people rearmed and prepared to go on the march once again. As they emerged from the shadows, most of the free folk were surprised to see nearly a dozen sentry towers made out of compacted ice and stone jutting out of the horizon, as well as other fortifications serving as cover for the Imperial defenders. Fire-pits that seem to magically emit no smoke serve to conceal the presence of several handgunners making camp around elevated positions with unobstructed views to the dense white thicket below, guaranteeing that should Mance Rayder's army take this route, the first blood drawn would be from an unlucky raider.

What's more, as Val and her people continued along the supposedly lightly-defended path, she spied rows upon rows of sharpened stakes positioned in key positions, clearly intended to hamper advancing raiders while keeping horse-riders from coming too close for the handgunners' comfort. Finally, at the centre of the fortifications, an iron and brass contraption shaped like an elongated cauldron sat on a metallic pedestal, surrounded by a small detail of shivering artillerymen.

Of course, Val took note, that these things would do very little to stop a crafty group of skinchangers from sowing chaos, to say nothing of an onslaught of giants bestride their mammoth steeds. The spearwife recalled that before she and her cohorts departed from Rayder's host, he had plenty of beastlings under his command, and the giants under Mag Mar Tun Doh Weg were on their way south to reinforce the warlord's swelling ranks.

"You've done well to strengthen your defences here, Imperial," Val addressed Eloise. "But I do not think they will be enough to smash Mance Rayder's host. You need more of your warriors out here."

"This is all the men we could spare, I'm afraid." Eloise said. "We've not enough soldiers to fully secure every entrance to the settlement, but that is an issue our strategists are already familiar with. In any case, none of them are not expected to hold their positions forever."

"Is that so?" Val cocked an inquisitive golden brow.

Wolfhard chuckled condescendingly. "I'm as much of an admirer of heroic last stands as the next man, but we do have proper walls back in the settlement. Not making use of them would be dumb."

Val mimicked Eloise and rolled her eyes at Wolfhard, whose wry smirk only seemed to grow wider and more obnoxious. With the soldiers soon behind them and the settlement's fortified gates within sight up ahead, Val was immediately gratified to see a full cohort of Imperial knights waiting to receive her and her fellow defectors. What's more, standing amidst the ranks of these faceless, plate-armoured warriors was unmistakably none other than Emperor Karl Franz himself, looking slightly worse for wear, but still suitably tall and regal as before.

"Kaiser Franz," Eloise bowed deferentially at her liege as her little group approached. "Wir kommen mit Nachrichten aus—"

"Ich schätze deine Arbeit, Fräulein von Mannstedt, aber Sie und Ihre Leute sind hier fertig." Karl Franz replied, walking past his knights to receive Eloise. "Meldet Euch bei Hauptmann Schindler für Ihren nächsten Auftrag. Ich werde selbst mit der Freivolk sprechen."

Eloise, after a moment's hesitation, brought a fist to her chest in salute to the emperor. "Jawohl, mein Kaiser." She then turned to Wolfhard and gestured to the path ahead, deeper into the settlement. "Lass uns gehen, Wolfhard."

Val watched her erstwhile Imperial companions depart. Eloise did not so much as nod goodbye as the spearwife looked to her, although Wolfhard was at least courteous enough to doff his hat before leaving. As for the black knight, Val was pleased to see his skull-helmed gaze already set to her when she looked to him, just before he also turned and left.

The spearwife had plenty of men to warm her bed before, and many more admirers still. She idly wondered what an Imperial knight could do for her, once she had him completely under her thrall.

"My scouts tell me of a force of northlanders making their way to our settlement... and with some of our own among them..." Val's reverie was interrupted by the emperor's own voice speaking in Common. "From this, I will assume that you come bearing a message from your cowardly king, who did not dare to come before me himself, as I did for him."

Emperor Franz snorted dismissively as some of the free folk offered up their weapons or sunk to their knees in submission. "Stand or kneel, it matters not to me. Deliver your message, and begone."

"Peace, my lord," The spearwife moved to the front of her group, and almost immediately, her people parted aside to let her pass. "We no longer see Mance Rayder as a king fit to lead our people, and neither do we serve him still."

The emperor turned his sights to Val, his narrowed in suspicion. "Hold, wildling. You are familiar to me... but I do not remember from where."

"I am the one they call Val." She curtsied. "We've met before, on your ill-fated journey to negotiate with our people."

At last, recognition seemed to glint in Franz's eyes. "Yes..." He frowned, as though recalling something unpleasant. "I see it now. You are the same woman who hawked the foolhardy suggestion that I should lead the free folk instead of Mance Rayder. Is this why you've led these people... and this thing..."

He paused to glance up at the towering Wun Wun in the distance, at the back of the wildling formation. "...to the Empire's gates? I'm afraid I can only bring you further disappointment, if that is why you are here."

"I have not changed my mind about you being our king, but no, that is not the reason why we came to you." Val shook her head. "These people have grown tired of this war, Karl Franz, and we wish to see it ended before the free folk are utterly destroyed. To this end, if you will have us, we gladly offer you our spears and our axes. Even our giant would fight for you."

Karl Franz seemed to contemplate the offer in silence, for a while. "A tempting offer, Lady Val, but forgive me if I do not take it without preparing for a knife in the back. What evidence can you offer me, to show that you have well and truly abandoned Mance Rayder?"

Val smiled. "Information." She said, "I know much of Mance Rayder's plans for the coming battle for Hardhome, and I'm only so glad to tell you all that I know."

Karl Franz stared at her. "Either you are telling the truth, or you are a more accomplished liar than most of the Imperial Court. I sense no deception from you, but you still must earn my people's trust before I allow to settle behind the walls, or fight alongside my soldiers. They will not be as reasonable nor as welcoming as I am, make no mistake."

The spearwife nodded, knowing that her people were getting as good a deal as they were going to receive. "I understand." She looked to her followers, who responded with either with shrugs or confused nods. "They understand. Let this day be the start of a new song, for both our peoples."

Making eye contact, Karl Franz reached out with his gauntleted hand. Val recognised the gesture, and reached out with her own to shake it.

Admiral du Chastel trotted over on his horse, a look of amused confusion on his sun-kissed face. "Uh, que se passe-t-il ?"

* * *

 **RYKKER**

"And you are sure this is true, ser?"

Ser Jaremy Rykker nodded grimly, trying not to let the desperation in his eyes show.

Lord Commander Mormont craned his head to the first ranger seated across the table to him, Benjen Stark. "So, Stark, what do you think of what your man had to say?"

Stark's mouth was drawn into a thin, pursed line. "The other reports I've received from separate rangings mention how they've come across signs of heavy fighting in the woods east of Craster's Keep, along with countless wildling corpses pockmarked with holes and black, flaky burn marks. They've also found discarded castle-forged weapons and armour bearing the insignias of unknown houses, along with thousands of hoof-prints and other, unfamiliar tracks from some great and terrible beast."

The first ranger sighed, as though realising how ridiculous his next words were going to sound. "Some of the men suggested that they could only come from none other than the greatest, most fearsome direwolf to ever stalk the lands north of the Wall, my lord. Either that, or a lion twice the size of an aurochs."

"Lions! Wolves!" The muffled caws of Mormont's pet crow could be faintly heard outside the lord commander's solar. "King! War!"

Rolling his eyes, Mormont leaned into his seat and settled his gaze upon Rykker again. "I've come prepared for Mance Rayder leading the wildlings on a siege against the Wall, but this... nothing could ever prepare us for this, Rykker. What do you know about this Empire you so fear?"

The senior ranger breathed in and out. "It is a nation of foreign warriors, as far as I could tell, and they speak their own tongue — "Reikspiel", as they called it. They possess weapons that could kill a man from afar with greater frequency compared to bows or crossbows, and they made use of terrible, self-propelled machines that spat orbs of cast steel and sprayed boiling water, hot enough to cook a knight in his armour. Their soldiers fought with skill and no small amount of courage, and yet were disciplined enough to hold fast and maintain their formations in the face of an advancing horde of wildlings. Their knights wore bright colours into battle, and they seem like foppish Lannister dandies at a glance, all substance and no true talent... but make no mistake. Those men were deadly with lances and greatswords, and they rode through the snow like Dornishmen through sand."

A few scoffs and mocking laughter were heard from the other rangers and stewards present in the room as Rykker recounted what he saw. Mormont was quick to silence them with a stern glare. "And? Tell me the rest, ser knight, and spare no detail, no matter how small."

Rykker hated being seen as a fool, especially from the lowborn scum he was forced to work alongside, but he nodded and carried on. "But worst of all, the Imperials brought with them warlocks and monstrous creatures. We've watched them bring down the sky and make the heavens rain down fire and ash, burning down entire tracts of forest land as quickly as aged wildfire. They have foul magic that could take control of the ice beneath our feet, and even turn our own shadows against us. Some of their knights even sat bestride wingless griffins, more bloodthirsty and three times as fierce as the men who rode them to battle."

Ser Jaremy scowled at recalling his encounter with Eloise and Wolfhard. The way he was shackled and humiliated by those foreign invaders made his blood boil in rage. "The Empire is a force the Watch cannot hope to defeat should they turn their sights to the Wall, and forcing them back into the sea would be a fool's errand, what with the amount of dangerous contraptions and strange magics they could take to the field..."

The black brother leaned into the table in front of him, daring to look his lord commander in the eyes. "But not all is lost, my lord. My suggestion is that we have Maester Aemon send out the ravens with a petition for King Robert and each of the lord paramounts. They must raise an army — one to outmatch the Empire's in number, if not in strength — and send it north. We must show these foreigners that whatever ambitions they may have for the lands south of the Wall, they would cost their army a price too bloody for their emperor to pay."

By the time Rykker stopped talking, the sniggering devolved into full-blown, hysterical laughter and name-calling at the ranger's expense. Fortunately, Mormont was quick to reassert control of the situation before Rykker's infamously short temper could compel him to do something he would later regret.

"Enough!" The Old Bear roared, then set his sights to another black brother, Castle Black's master-at-arms. "Ser Alliser, is this the disciplined men you've promised me by the end of the forthnight? All I see are arrogant boys stinking of summer, who think they know better than a knight whom had seen the worst of Robert's Rebellion. I've expected better, ser knight."

Ser Alliser Thorne, whom had been smiling wryly at the japes before, quickly put his usual grimacing face and glowered at his recruits. The promise of punishment at Throne's hands at a later time was enough to bring the other black brothers back in line.

Satisfied, Mormont leaned back in his seat, briefly muttering to himself about wingless griffins. "Hrm. Now, unless everything I've been taught in my lady mother's household was wrong, all nations have men to lead them... and so-called empires are no exception. Ser Jaremy, what do you know of their emperor?"

Rykker unconsciously steeled himself. "His name is Karl Franz... an enormous brute of a man, easily as tall and as muscled as the Hound, if not more. I didn't believe it at first, but he also rode a griffin to battle, and not one of those wingless ones, either. This damned thing dwarfed mammoths, with talons that ribboned entire scores of wildlings with a single swipe, and possessed with a beak that could swallow a man whole, and a temper to rival the Targaryen dragons of old."

Mormont's face remained impassive, even as Rykker began to realise how insane he must have sounded to the brothers whom had not seen what he and his rangers had.

"A true griffin-rider? The Red Ronnet would like to hear about this, I suspect." The lord commander grumbled idly, more to himself than anything. "The men sent alongside you tell tales of a lord in black armour, with eyes aglow in blue light, and possessed with the skill to survive being surrounded by wildlings in unfamiliar woods, alone and cut off from his soldiers. But what is this Karl Franz fellow like? Is he able to be reasoned with, ser knight?"

 _I do not forget who my enemies are, ser knight. Cross me, and you forfeit your lives._

Rykker could never forget the chilling words of parting the dread emperor spoke to him. He decided that denouncing Karl Franz to Mormont, as was his original plan, was no longer wise.

"I... yes, I believe so, my lord. Before we left, the emperor said he was open to an alliance between his Empire and the Watch... until Mance Rayder lies dead and his army scattered to the wind, that is. Beyond that, I cannot say."

Mormont heaved out a heavy sigh. "Gods be good." Shaking his head, he stood up from his seat and fastened his cloak around his shoulders. "We are headed for interesting times, brothers. Stark, have the men prepared to embark north soon. I cannot say when, but I expect our rangers to be out there within the week."

First Ranger Stark nodded gravely. "How many of our brothers do you require, lord commander?"

Mormont looked him in the eye. "How many can you spare?"

* * *

 **End of Chapter VII - 1**

* * *

 _This isn't the end. As I've said, I separated the chapters into three sequential parts because of the sheer size of it (this chapter is around 12k words in length, the second part is 20k, and the third should be another 15 or 20k... making the chapter around 40-50k words in total). The second part is almost ready, and should be up within a day or two, and the third part should be up in a few weeks. Once again, sorry for the delay. I cannot overstate how important it is for me to prioritise real-life obligations first._


	11. Götter erhalten Franz den Kaiser, Pt II

_I just realised I have a lot of work I need to get done with tomorrow morning. Well, I suppose I should just drop this now and fix the inevitable missed errors as soon as I'm free._

 _To those unaware, this is part 2 of the new chapter, uploaded in the 30th of May, 2019. If you haven't read part 1 yet, please turn back a page, or this part won't make much sense. Part 3 will come in a few weeks if I'm not too busy._

* * *

 **WOLFHARD**

"Alright!"

Cousin Okri's face was flushed a bright red, and he was sweating ever so slightly, despite the cold.

"Enough of this! It's about time we take our differences to the next level!" The dwarf ranger bellowed, staring intensely at his sworn foe and rival from across their table.

"Hmghrm..." Todwunsch grumbled, perhaps out of exasperation.

Eloise sipped her tea as she relaxed on her makeshift seat, which was simply a pile of unloaded handguns stacked overtop one another. "Oh, give it up, dwarf. Siegmund has shown time and time again that he is better at this than you."

"You shut your filthy umgak mouth, woman!" Okrundsson all but screamed at the huntress, before quickly returning to regard his foe. "I'm not taking me eyes off you again, manling! You can count on that."

Bardin Goreksson rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Ehh, perhaps it's not such a good idea to let this go on, cousin. Why, this is the first time I've seen you beaten in cards, much less four times in quick succession, in fact! Eheh, maybe it's safer and more... economically-sound, to just write this one up for the Book..."

"No! My honour demands satisfaction! I'll show this tin can I'm better than him this time!" Okrundsson's beady eyes were wild with madness as he furiously rearranged his deck on the table. "New hand! And this time, YOU will be the one coughing up gold!"

Bored nearly to tears, Wolfhard suppressed a yawn as another one-sided match between the dwarf and the black guard began anew, its conclusion already known to everyone except the most stubborn ranger in the lands beyond the Wall.

It had been a week and four days since Eloise and her retinue returned to New Praag with Val's defecting free folk in tow. After reporting to Captain Schindler for their next task, Eloise, Wolfhard, Todwunsch and Weiss immediately packed up their belongings and made their way to Überwachungspunkt Dorthe, a small, concealed camp deep within the Haunted Forest, inhabited by a small detail of state troops from Middenland, free company militiamen, and a handful of Okrundsson's eccentric rangers.

Dorthe was meant as a drop-off point for lumber and forest goods, but for the rest of the week, Eloise intended to use it as an observation post for keeping an eye on free folk movement.

"Foolish Ranald-worshippers! This materialistic display does not endear you in the eyes of the one true god of world! Sigmar is displeased with your idleness!"

Unfortunately, none of the four were spared Henrik Vogel's presence, who tagged along with the group and objected violently to any attempt at driving him off. To avoid coming to blows with a deranged templar with no small amount of skill with a flail, and to keep Saltzpyre placated, Eloise decided to let Vogel do as he pleased, much to Wolfhard's dismay.

"Then what would you have us do, templar?" One of the state troops was foolish enough to ask.

Vogel fixed his wild eyes on the poor soldier, who instantly shrinked back in fear. "Must I tell you unpious children everything? You must pray, then meditate on the word of Sigmar! Only then will you find the truth in all things, and discard all confusion and fear and doubt, as I and many others have!"

While Wolfhard prayed and meditated as much as a man of his station was supposed to, he could only roll his eyes at his deranged colleague. "I'm going to relieve Weiss." He picked up his repeater handgun, which was leaning up against a tree. "With all the noise you lot are making, this place better be un-sacked by the time I walk back up here."

"Try to come back in one piece, mate." The militiaman watching the path to the camp saluted the templar as he ambled past and shuffled his way through heavy snow into the distant woods.

Pulling up the shawl draped around his shoulders, Wolfhard adjusted his sights and ignored the beaten path to Weiss' post, which seemed much too exposed for his tastes. Instead, he carefully made his way down the deserted forest, handgun pointed downrange.

"Im Wald und auf der Heide... such ich meine Freude..." Wolfhard muttered an old Hochlander hunting song as he continued down the frosted woods, with the wind at his back, the moon and the stars up above, and the weirwood trees all around watching his every move. "Ich bin ein Jägersmann, ich bin ein Jägersmann..."

The templar's stroll through the woods seemed peaceful enough, and the view was stunning as always. There was something about these snow-capped forest that allured Wolfhard and put him at ease, and the way the trees gently swayed in the wind was almost hypnotic, reminding him of many pleasant memories from his early childhood in Talabecland. After a while, the templar put away his gun and began to think that his earlier caution might have been unwarranted.

That was, until a dark shape crashed into him from out of nowhere, toppling him over the snow, leaving him momentarily stunned and groaning from the pain. When his vision cleared and his wits returned to him, Wolfhard looked up to see the barking jaws of a brown wolf opening and closing in front of him, liberally slathering his face in canine slobber.

Swallowing his fear and surprise, Wolfhard reached out and clasped the sides of the wolf's muzzle before its slavering jaws could close around his throat. With desperate strength, the hunter pushed the wolf away from his face. When it recovered its balance and tried to attack Wolfhard again, he put a stop to it and knocked it well back with a debilitating kick to the snout.

Scrambling back up to his feet as quickly as he could, Wolfhard drew his longsword from his back and swiped once and twice at the charging wolf, hoping to scare it off. For some strange reason, the wild animal completely ignored his display and skirted around the hunter, angling to sink its teeth into his legs. Growing irritated at the desperate creature's persistence, Wolfhard darted back a step, and swung down with his blade just before the beast could strike.

The templar's blow struck true with gruesome results. The wolf's head was very nearly split down the middle, the repulsive sight drawing a look of disgust from its creator.

"Stupid dog," The hunter scoffed, extracting his blade from the creature's twitching corpse.

There was a scream of anguish and pain in the distance, followed by alarmed shouts and clamoring in the wildling tongue. Wolfhard took a few steps back, his eyes widening in shock and mounting dread as a veritable swarm of enraged free folk raiders emerged from the undergrowth and broke into a combined sprint toward him, all but ready to tear him apart, piece by bloody piece.

Just before the marauders surrounded him, Wolfhard managed to regain some of his wits.

"Come, then!" Accepting his fate, he muttered one last benediction to Sigmar and Taal before standing straight, tall and unbowed, longsword held in a battle-ready stance against his murderers. "Let's dance!"

* * *

 **ELOISE**

A deadpan cheer erupted across Uberwachungspunkt Dorthe. Jugs of watered-down beer were unenthusiastically toasted, a couple of hats were thrown into the air in a mocking manner, and dwarf rangers shrugged and went about their way as, once again, Todwunsch handily defeated Okrundsson in a heavily-modified game of Grenzstadt Eights... much to the surprise of absolutely no one.

"Well, that settles it." Sighing, Eloise sprung up from his impromptu chair, stuffing her notebook back into her coat pocket. "You lost to Siegmund for the fifth time this day, Okrundsson. Congratulations."

Cousin Okri had the look of a dwarf utterly defeated and devoid of all hope. "You've taken every bit of coin I have, manling..." He muttered. "I have nothing left to give... but there is one _thing_..."

Goreksson gasped, "No, cousin! You can't bloody well mean..."

Okrundsson hung his head in shame. "Yes, cousin. I've lost, and the ancestors demand I pay the victor his due." Dejectedly, he reached for the strap of his runeforged grudge-raker.

Eyes widening in alarm, Eloise reached into his coat for a weapon. "Dwarf! And just what do you think you're doing?"

Todwunsch seemed impassive as ever, merely staring at the ranger. His stoic demeanour was shattered as soon as Okrundsson unslung his weapon over his shoulder and tossed it at the knight's armoured lap. Todwunsch rumbled out a confused noise, only to be stunned into silence again when Okrundsson threw another of his things at him — a wide, foul-smelling leather belt adorned with several densely-packed grudge-raker shells.

"She's yours now, knight. The gun, and the means to kill with her." Eloise was shocked to hear the dwarf speak those words. "Aye, she'll make for a fine weapon in your hands... provided you can handle her."

Tentatively, the black guard of Morr lifted the weapon and held it in his hands as a forlorn-looking Okrundsson looked on with defeated eyes.

Goreksson nodded solemnly at the scene. "You should feel honoured, manling. A grudge-raker is a rare thing, even amongst our kind. You must be the first human to ever wield one of these weapons, and likely the last, too."

Eloise gaped at the scene, trying and failing to contain her shock. "I... don't quite follow. This is insane, dwarfs don't just give away their own weapons like that! Don't you two have a grudge to write down instead?"

"Aye, but there is a price I must pay, and for a manling who worships the manling god of death, a tool of death seems the most fitting. I don't expect witch hunter types like you to understand, Fräulein." Okrundsson folded his musclebound arms and pointedly looked away from Eloise.

"You... you..." The huntress closed her mouth, setting her jaw. "...ugh, forget I said anything. You rangers are stranger than the rest of your kind."

Both Okrundsson and Goreksson shrugged at that, almost in concert with one another. Massaging her temples, Eloise looked to her black guard retainer, who regarded the new weapon in his hands and the belt on his lap with childlike awe from the muffled sounds he was making through his helm.

The corners of the huntress' lips curled up at the sight, despite herself. She opened her mouth, a teasing, mockingly exasperated remark at the tip of her tongue, when she was interrupted by a tap on her shoulder.

"Hey," Eloise flinched to hear Weiss' voice behind her. She was beginning to tire of the young woman's habit of making very little noise as she moved. "Just came back from my watch. Have you seen your brother anywhere? He's supposed to relieve me half an hour ago."

The huntress arched a black brow. "You mean to say you did not come across him out there? Wolfhard left a while ago to take up your watch."

Weiss shook her head. "Afraid not, templar."

Eloise narrowed her eyes at the sergeant. "That's strange. The path only leads one way... you _should_ have met him on his way to your post."

"Knowing Wolfhard, it's likely he took an alternate route through the woods for a more "scenic experience". I'm beginning to wonder, is your brother always like this?" Weiss sardonically asked.

"Ever since he failed his squiredom to Tancred von Lichtenburg." Eloise snorted. "It is likely he had too much to drink and had to empty his bladder somewhere hidden just as you passed by. I suppose it's only fortunate you did _not_ run into him on your way back."

Weiss covered her mouth to keep from laughing. "That is... heh, possible enough, I think." She turned to the side. "Still, it can't hurt to know if he made it to his post unharmed. I'm going to order some of the handgunners to look for him out there."

"Sergeant, that's hardly necessary." Eloise shook her head. "The free folk wouldn't dare to come this close to our territory, and Wolfhard is more than capable of defending himself should—"

The distinctive crack of a handgun in the distance pierced the quiet atmosphere of the camp, cutting Eloise off. The blast was followed by another, and another, and another, until it stopped and all was quiet again.

By now, the relative peace that presided over Dorthe had been thoroughly shattered. State troops started to emerge from their tents partially-clothed and only half-awake, while their comrades already on their feet tentatively began reaching for their weapons, clearly hesitant to go to war again. Even the dwarf rangers seemed reluctant to put down their ale in favour of their axes and thunderers.

It took Eloise emptying a pistol into the sky to shake them back into the real world. With the men's attention now on her, the huntress was quick to order the state troops and all the auxiliary soldiers present to immediately present themselves to their fighting positions and make ready for battle.

And with that, the Imperials and their dwarfen auxiliaries got to work. Handgunners and crossbowmen hunkered down behind Dorthe's frontal barricade and whatever cover they could find as they began setting up firing arcs to slow down any wildling charge from the woods up ahead, while Okrundsson and his rangers braced their shields together and positioned themselves out in the open, intending to draw most of the hostile attention head the camp's way. Meanwhile, a single detail of artillerymen reluctantly dumped their beer into the snow and hastily began putting together the rest of the partially-assembled mortar at the centre of the camp, their red-faced leader screaming oaths and other profanities all the while.

"One of our own is in peril!" Vogel declared, even as Todwunsch dragged him away from the open, almost manhandling him. "Unhand me, you death-worshipping brute! Can't you all see it is only just that we send a party to rescue our comrade from danger, and smite those who would dare to stand in our way? Sigmar knows I am right!"

"For once, I agree with him." Weiss said, glancing briefly at the twitchy, wild-eyed hunter before turning to Eloise again. "I'll go out there myself with your permission, Fräulein von Mannstedt. Just say the word."

"Hrmph." Todwunsch stepped forward, placing himself beside Weiss.

Without Todwunsch to restrain him, Vogel bared his teeth in a decidedly feral grin. "Together, we will make our enemies fear our approach! Follow, I know the way!"

"Not so fast, you slovenly lunatic," Eloise stepped into the man's path, preventing him from impulsively running back into the open. "You're _not_ coming with them. Their task requires a level of subtlety rabid dogs like you are physically incapable of, I cannot risk your inelegant blundering to compromise—"

Nobody in camp saw it coming until it was far too late. One of the dwarfs just barely finished cleaning his thunderer, when he looked up at the falling shadow in the sky, opened his mouth to shout a late warning, and was promptly splattered by a giant rock.

Eloise jumped back at the gruesome display, her face paling. "Sigmar, what—"

More rocks came raining down from the sky, pelting the Imperials below from their camps. Tents and fortifications were demolished, trees were shattered and bent, and unfortunate people were crushed underneath obviously quarried boulders, likely propelled by some great, if primitive, siege weapon.

When the barrage abated and the dust settled, Eloise pulled herself up from the snow to see the camp thrown into disarray, with many dead and even more injured. Fortunately, her own retinue seemed to have survived intact.

"Damn it!" Weiss cursed as she helped Todwunsch up. "When did those barbarians get their hands on stone-throwers?"

So much death seemed to only drive Vogel into an even deeper frenzy. "It matters not! They brought siege weapons against us, and that can only mean one thing! We must attack now, and kill these heretics before they reach New Praag!"

As though on cue, a shout of alarm from the barricade alerted them to a more immediate issue at hand.

"We've got company!" A handgunner at the barricade cried out, indicating at the woods where Wolfhard disappeared into. "There! Free folk raiders on approach!"

Eloise snapped her head to where the handgunner was pointing at, and behold, enough barbarians to swarm the entire camp appeared over the horizon, screaming bloody murder as they charged across the snow, axes in the air and shield raised. Worse, they brought with them crude chariots dragged along by giant wolves, as well as formations of towering white bears mounted by what appeared to be wildling leaders and warlords, judging from their better weapons and armour.

The huntress did not let her surprise show. Instead, she pulled out a pistol. "State troops, free company, on my mark!" She pointed her pistol downrange. Trying to hit a single target from her distance was an exercise in futility, but the sheer mass and density of the advancing free folk horde made scoring a kill almost a certainty. "Load! Take aim! Make ready..."

The huntress let the barbarians come closer for another moment more, before taking her shot, her bullet glancing against a raider's shield and ricocheting into another man's neck. "In the name of Karl Franz von Holswig-Schliesten! ATTACK!"

And with that, the Imperials and their dwarf comrades let loose with their assortment of firearms, crossbows, and arbalests, their weapons shredding through the enemy's first rank and raking through those behind.

Instead of turning and retreating as free folk tend to do when confronted with blackpowder arms, however, these raiders simply ran over the fallen bodies of their dead or maimed comrades and continued their charge, completely undeterred.

Eloise grimaced. "Blast it! Reload!" She turned behind her shoulder to the mortar crew. "Volkmar's arse, what's taking so long, you clumsy Ulricans? We need that gun firing NOW!"

"The crew's doing their best, Fräulein von Mannstedt!" Their leader exclaimed, even as his men struggled to put the disassembled piece back together. "She'll be ready in ten minutes, at most!"

"We'll all be dead in five!" Eloise shouted back. Gritting her teeth, she returned to the battle at hand. "Weiss, I need you to get out of here. Return to the settlement and tell them Rayder's people brought siege weapons and are coming down Storrold's Point in force. The emperor and the elector counts would know what to do."

"Is this wise?" The state sergeant asked, concerned. "I'll be of most use to you here."

"Just do it, sergeant!" Eloise barked, daring at the other woman to disagree. It was only when Weiss bowed her head in submission and began marching away that the huntress addressed the rest of her men, who looked to her for direction with wide, desperate eyes.

"Fire at will, everyone! Bring them to heel like the dogs they are!"

The Imperials and the dwarfs put down another combined volley, followed by a third, and a fourth.

"Here they come! Brace! BRACE!"

It did not take overlong for the battle to be properly joined, when the free folk raiders finally crashed into the Imperial barricade, eager to hack apart the vastly outnumbered defenders behind it.

"Hold fast!" Eloise swung aside, dodging a frenzied thrust from a wildling sword. "STAND FIRM!" Brandishing her rapier, the huntress was quick to impale her attacker through the heart as his forward momentum propelled him forth. "NO SURRENDER!"

From then on, the chaos of war consumed Dorthe, with the surrounded and desperately outnumbered Imperials fending off wave after wave of the enemy, which seemed numberless and twice as fierce than usual. Even as more giant rocks were cast their way, they held their ground, and they did not waver.

"All detachments, priority target! BRING THAT BLOODY THING DOWN!" The huntress cried out, rallying the men around her as an intimidating sight bore down upon them — a greatsword-wielding raider sat bestride an enormous white bear charged forward, both howling in rage like the rabid animals they were.

Even as bullets and quarrels raked its hide, the great ursine beast barrelled onward, smashing its bulk into the braced Imperial formation. Eloise and her scattered band of battered soldiers gave a good account of themselves as they tried to fend the snow bear and its crazed rider off, but at such close range, they proved outmatched to the sheer ferocity of their foes.

"Pull back, damn it!" Eloise commanded, grunting as she darted aside to evade the mangled, screaming body of a free company militiaman hurled her way. "Sigmar, keep it away from the mortar! What's it going to take to kill this blasted thing?"

The bear-riding wildling cackled madly after decapitating a pair of state troopers in a single sweep of his blade, and whooped obnoxiously as his vicious mount dragged an outrider from his panicking horse and tore the man limb from limb. Eloise blanched as the lunatic turned his head to leer at the unprotected mortar crew. She muttered a prayer to her god for salvation, and as fate would have it, it seemed as though her plea was immediately heard.

Silently emerging from the thick blanket of blackpowder smoke clouding the battlefield like a monstrous suit of animated armour from a Sylvanian mummer's play, Todwunsch hefted his oversized poleaxe up and brought it down on the snow bear's flank, driving his steel deeply into its hindquarters from the sheer amount of force he put into his swing. The beast roared in surprise and pain as it jolted to face its attacker, accidentally throwing its blindsided rider from its back as it did.

Undeterred by the bear's open-mouthed, wrathful gaze upon him, Todwunsch near-effortlessly batted aside the creature's huge, clawed arm as it swiped at him. With his prey recovering from its missed strike, the raven knight used his weapon's hammer-head to retaliate with a noisy, bonecrushing strike to the creature's enormous snout, flattening the front of its skull and sending it reeling, dazed from the sheer blunt force Todwunsch struck it with.

The beast was stunned, and rendered defenceless for a while. Seizing the momentum, Todwunsch lowered his weapon, braced it against his armoured shoulder, and closed the remaining distance between himself and the dazed snow bear. Still as silent as ever, the black guard of Morr skewered the beast clean through the neck with his poleaxe's spearhead, before twisting it down, forcing the wounded creature into the ground.

Before the bear could mount any more resistance, Todwunsch freed one of his hands and reached behind, grasping the handle of the grudge-raker Cousin Okri gifted to him. Its runic components seem to glow faintly in the fading sunlight as Todwunsch pressed it against the side of the beast's skull before pulling the trigger, painting the snow beneath a disgusting shade of darkened red.

Eloise winced at the sight. Grimacing, the huntress took the time to sidestep a charging spearwife, stabbing the graceless savage through the armpit as she did. With no immediate threat to hinder her, the huntress quickly made her way next to her black guard companion's side.

"Nicely done, Siegmund!" Eloise said in-between breaths. "We'd have lost our mortar had you not interfered!"

In response, Todwunsch shook his head. Grunting, he pointed to where the mortar crew was before.

The huntress turned aside, her face twisting in shock at the sight of the artillerymen being hacked apart in close-quarters by more free folk than she could count. Worse, even the main handgunner line seemed close to being encircled and overwhelmed. Only the dwarfs seemed to have managed to hold their ground and maintain their formation.

"Fräulein von Mannstedt! We can't stay here!" A state trooper exclaimed as he reloaded hurriedly, even as his comrades just a few paces up front were overtaken by the wildling horde and slaughtered without mercy. "We have to go! Call the retreat!"

Once again, Eloise hesitated. "But... but Wolfhard is still out there! We must stay and wait for—"

"Foolish girl!" All of the sudden, Vogel appeared, covered head-to-foot in dirt, blood spatters, and even more wounds and cuts. "There is no winning here — no glory in utter defeat! Give the order, sound the retreat!"

The huntress looked at her fellow templar with no small amount of astonishment, as though she was seeing his true self for the first time. "I... yes, but—"

"Consider him dead!" Vogel all but screamed, even as he wrapped his flail's chains around a panicking spearwife's neck. "Make your choice! I've made peace with my god, von Mannstedt... have you?" With a contemptuous sneer on his face, the hunter kicked his victim's leg out from under her, before twisting his flail in the opposite way. The audible crunch that followed was sickening.

Eloise bared her teeth at her fellow templar, whose words immediately rekindled the fires of righteous fury within her. "How _dare_ you speak to me like that, churl!" But they also sparked clarity, and even reason. She hated admitting to herself that the fanatic was right. "Sigmar curse you. Okrundsson, cover our retreat — we're leaving now!"

Cousin Okri made a displeased noise. "We're leaving? But we still have munitions!" He grumbled a bit, but nonetheless gave the order to his crew. "Von Mannstedt says it's time to disappear, lads! Cousin, remember that time we faced zombies near Zhufbar? Give these manlings a faceful of the good stuff!"

Laughing gleefully, Bardin Goreksson unslung one of the knapsacks he was carrying, one that visibly bulged with intricate black spheres carved with the faces of scowling longbeards.

"Here," Lighting one of the spheres, the veteran ranger heaved back, and tossed the overpacked bag into the largest concentration of wildlings. "Drakefire! With love, from Karak Azul!"

The resulting explosion propelled great gouts of burning fuel in every direction — burning, viscous, flesh-eating fuel that stuck to the skin and resisted any attempt at extinguishing their flames. Scores of wildlings caught in the blast panicked, and scrambled away in their vain attempt to put out the fires scourging their bodies. Those raiders fortunate enough to escape the rapid series of fiery explosions that thinned their ranks found themselves blinded, and doubling over from the amount of thick, acrid black smoke that almost instantly enveloped them.

Over the din of battle, Eloise's voice could be heard, "Retreat! Abandon all posts, leave this place!"

Using the smokescreen the dwarfs created, the remnants of Outpost Dorthe disengaged, formation by formation, one detachment after the other. With practiced ease, the soldiers provided covering volleys for those left behind, before running back themselves as they abandoned more and more of their territory.

"Verena's cunt, these woods all look the same!" One of the militiamen cried out, looking to the dense woodland that stretched endlessly ahead with wide, anxious eyes.

"Which way?" A state trooper's voice could be heard from the back of the formation. "Which way is the huntsmarshal's camp!"

"Move it, you old farts! By the gods, Lukas, keep those legs moving!" A free company sergeant ran past, trailed behind by militiamen long past their prime.

Eloise hazarded a glance behind her shoulder and found the enemy only a few hundred paces behind, determined in their pursuit. Hissing an oath under her breath, the huntress decided to do as the militiaman said, and kept her legs moving.

The retreat lasted for almost half an hour, and by the end of it, Eloise lost a few more soldiers to the pursuing free folk after they fell behind. It came as a relief to all, to see a handful of their fellow Imperials running up to meet them from their hiding spots — Wulfhart's elite huntsmen and rangers, by the looks of them.

"Look, there they are!" The leading sergeant of this detachment of bowmen shouted to his fellows, pointing ahead. Notably, distinguished by their dark overcoats and high-quality weapons and armour, Eloise also spotted more than a handful of Witch Hunter Captain Saltzpyre's retainers among their ranks. "Get into formation, you fools. Nock those arrows, ready those guns — attack on my mark!"

Thanking Sigmar for the respite, Eloise slowed down to catch her breath as she and her underlings approached.

"Sergeant, words cannot express how glad I am to see friendly faces... though I am not too pleased to see some of Saltzpyre's goons with you." She said, fully aware and more than a little annoyed of the fact that she was another of the witch hunter captain's lackeys, albeit the one with the most authority. "I assume you've been informed of our situation?"

"Aye, milady. Your woman came through, just... not in the best of times." The huntsman awkwardly said, his voice reeking of cheap Middenheim ale. Come to think of it, he and some of his men also seemed to be missing pieces of their uniforms. "Go on ahead my lords and ladies, the huntsmarshal and your templar-captain's waiting for you in his ice-fort. And don't worry about these savages; the lads and I have something special in store for them..."

Eloise nodded at the man, gestured for her people to follow behind, and left without a word. Todwunsch obediently trailed behind her, while Vogel set his beady, fiery-eyed stare at the mismatched bunch of huntsmen and templar retainers.

"Take heart, stand proud! Glory to Sigmar, the Empire, and the first man to die!" He exclaimed in his typical unhinged manner, before turning away and running after his companions.

The walk to Huntsmarshal Wulfhart's "ice-fort", which was little more than a compact shelter made from Kislevite magical ice, was thankfully short. Once she was sure all her people made it to a position with a clear shooting arc over the path behind them and the wounded ferried back to New Praag, Eloise marched inside the glacial edifice, whereupon she promptly stumbled upon a most peculiar scene.

"—with these weapons," Seated across the table from the huntsmarshal, Captain Saltzpyre indicated at the equipment the more junior witch hunters behind him were wielding as they stood painfully straight to attention. "Your men will possess the firepower to hold your ground, even when outnumbered three-to-one. All I require is your permission to—"

"Captain," As one, Wulfhart and Saltzpyre turned their heads to the sound of Eloise's voice. "Who are these people?" She eyed her fellow templars, whom she hadn't seen before. They greeted her with their own stares, and only a few were polite enough to smile or nod in acknowledgement.

"Ah, von Mannstedt. You are unsurprisingly late." Captain Saltzpyre pressed his weight into his walking cane. "But no matter," He then gestured to his minions behind his shoulder. "If you must know, these are some of my confidants and close protégés. They answer to only me, thus making introductions pointless... though I suspect you and your brother would be working very closely with this man here,"

The templar captain pointed his cane at the only man in his group without an exposed face. In response, the man in question tipped his hat to Eloise.

"I'm Hans." He introduced himself rather simply, his raspy voice filtered through the armoured, orange-lensed Pestarzt mask he wore over his face. "Captain Saltzpyre said you are in charge should he ever die in combat, or otherwise be rendered unable to lead." He had in his hands a peculiar, long-barrelled handgun of a most unusual design, resembling a shielded Arabyan jezzail more than anything. Behind him, the silver hilt of a sheathed flammenschwert could be seen. "The lads and I look forward to fighting alongside you."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure the lot of you are." Saltzpyre scoffed, his voice dripping with sardonic impatience. He looked behind Eloise for a moment, seemingly noticing something amiss. "Your brother follows you around like an overly-attached hound, but now he is nowhere in sight. Where is he?"

The huntress' shoulders sagged. "I don't know." She mumbled, voice thick with worry. "He went out to do his rounds, when we were attacked by a horde of raiders. He didn't return to the watchpoint in time, when we were forced to abandon it. He has not been seen by any of my men ever since he left."

She sighed, before she steeled herself. "We must mount a search at the earliest possible time.

Saltzpyre took a second to respond. "If Richter has yet to return to us after all this time, then we can assume he is either dead or captured, and his usefulness to our cause has ended. We cannot waste any time or resources on him, we must focus on—"

A defeaning bang echoed outside Huntsmarshal Wulfhart's lodgings, which was followed by a second and a third, each as unsettlingly loud as the last.

Saltzpyre cleared his throat as soon as it was quiet again. "As I was saying, we should turn to more pressing issues at the moment."

"What? No!" Eloise's ears still rang, but she heard Saltzpyre well enough. "Are you insane? Wolfhard could still be out there, awaiting rescue, and we're all but leaving him to fend for himself against an army of these heathens?"

"Or he could be dead, and we'd be risking the lives of what few templars we have left just to retrieve the shattered corpse of one unfortunate hunter." Saltzpyre did not yield an inch. "As captain, I cannot make a decision so reckless, so risky, as this..."

Muffled screaming and what sounded like shouted commands echoed outside, followed by the distinctive, discordant rattle of several handguns discharging one after another in quick, practiced succession.

"...especially at a time like this, when the wolves have come to our door!" Scowling in anger, Saltzpyre jabbed the end of his cane into the ground, as though imagining he was driving it into the heart of a downed foe. He turned to Wulfhart, whom had kept quiet thus far. "Huntsmarshal, we will discuss our agreement another time. I suggest we all take our positions outside and show these filthy northlanders the consequences of crossing the Empire."

The huntsmarshal sighed as he stood up, taking up his bow and quiver as he did. "There is no agreement; our bows still prove more than sufficient for our needs. I already said no the first time, or haven't you been listening to me? Bah."

Saltzpyre barely paid attention to Wulfhart as he stalked out. His eye was upon his men once again. "Our huntsmarshal is not convinced; get out there, fight beside him, and prove how wrong he is about our righteous tools of slaughter."

Led by the faceless Hans, the templars saluted and obeyed, leaving the ice-fort without a word.

"And as for you, von Mannstedt," Finally, Saltzpyre turned to address Eloise... "You are needed to—"

...only to face a rapier's piercing edge pressed to his throat, threatening to draw blood. "Hm."

Eloise's eyes were narrowed into slits, and teeth were clenched tightly together, mouth drawn back into an expression of hatred and contempt. She looked at her superior the same way she looked at heretics and mutants.

"I won't abandon Wolfhard." The huntress pressed hard on the blade she was holding, lightly piercing the skin covering Saltzpyre's neck. "And there is nothing you can do to stop me."

To his credit, the surprise on Saltzpyre's face almost instantly drained into an unimpressed frown. The only warning Eloise got that she was a single pull of the trigger away from Morr's embrace was the unassuming click of a pistol's hammer being cocked.

"Think carefully before you carry out your next act, kleine Mädchen," Captain Saltzpyre said, voice dangerously low. Eloise had to suppress a gasp as she felt a barrel being pressed under her breast, just next to her heart. At this range, her armour could hardly be counted on to do its job. "What in the name of Sigmar do you intend, drawing your sword against me, your superior?"

Eloise did not hesitate. "I just want to see Wolfhard. Alive or dead. I give not one whit if I have to do it on my own."

A tense silence followed between the two. It was a while before Saltzpyre dipped his head to the side. "Fair enough."

Eloise braced herself, unsure if she was going to be shot. Instead, she felt the pistol's barrel lifting away from her chest as Saltzpyre retracted it.

"Do as you wish." The captain said, setting down his pistol on the table nearby. "I've done what I can to reason with you, but I see that you and your father are still too much alike. Leave this place, little girl, while you still can. There is no place for you in war."

"I can see now why he cut all ties with you, Saltzpyre." Eloise drew her rapier back. She considered cutting a red line along her captain's throat, but in the end, she reined in her fury. "Goodbye, old man."

Saltzpyre emotionlessly watched her leave, letting her go without a word, in protest or otherwise.

Outside, it pained Eloise to see her fellow Imperials preparing for battle, hunkered down behind their fortifications. Many would die here, defending their nation from soulless barbarians who wish to see it destroyed utterly... and here she was, about to abandon them on the eve of battle for the sake of her childish, impudent half-brother.

"Fräulein von Mannstedt!" Weiss came running as soon as she saw Eloise leaving the tent. Just behind her was Todwunsch, looking eager to spill more wildling blood. "The men are in position. Where do you wish to—"

"I'm leaving, sergeant." The huntress cut her off. She couldn't bear to hear her companion turning to her for direction. "I need to find Wolfhard. You three do what you must, but I cannot stay here."

As expected, Weiss seemed surprised at first. Eloise also expected her to become furious, and be called out for being craven and selfish. Weiss defied the huntress' expections with a simple, "I see. We'll find him together, then."

"Mrghm!" The black guard clapped a gauntleted fist against his chestplate, then planted himself right next to Weiss. Ever-loyal, he seemed to wish to follow Eloise.

Eloise couldn't help but smile. "I am in your debt. Now come, we musn't waste any more time."

* * *

 **KATARINA**

The Ice Queen of Kislev stirred her tea and listened patiently, her face betraying no emotion, except for the tears welling up in the corner of her eyes.

"As soon as you disappeared, your majesty, our people crumbled in an instant." Knyaz Dmitri Yuvulev, a haggard, battle-scarred noble, recounted his experiences. "Morale among the warriors plummeted — there were mass desertions among the kossars, and even the winged lancers. The people panicked upon hearing the news... atamans told their people to abandon their homes and flee south, and without an organised army to keep order, bands of kyazak scum pillaged our nation from north to south, sparing no one, from Gospodar to Ungol."

The noble sighed, slicking back his hair. "Even with help from the Empire's armies, Kislev fell to the Everchosen's hordes within less than a week, and our nation ceased to exist after two months of desperate resistance. My failure to defend my lands shame me to this day, my queen, but I knew I had to take my people somewhere safe. We had no choice but to take refuge in Dietershafen, where an Imperial admiral had been kind enough to allow us to board his ships..."

He downed a shot of his kvas before hanging his head low, his hands supporting his head. "We've lost so much... my poor Ludmilla..."

Katarina looked down at her drink. It had gone cold in her hands, almost frozen solid. "I see." She reached up, and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "You have my condolences, your excellency. We have all suffered loss, and we all share in your grief."

"Th-thank you, my queen, you are most kind..." The man wiped under his nose and sat up straighter, mustering some of his dignity. "It pains me to see us reduced to this... having to rely on the Empire's kindness. One must wonder, when will this kindness run out?"

The tzarina pondered on this. In the end, she shook her head. "No. That is unwise. Franz would not dare to abandon us, not when his Empire stands on the brink of complete destruction. Ever since the Gospodars made peace with our neighbours to the south, our nations have always stood together against the odds... and I dare to say there is nothing in this world that could break our bond."

"My queen, while our nations have stood as allies for many an age, perhaps there is merit to Dima's words."

Knyaz Yuvulev's young second cousin, another Kislevite highborn known as Boyar Aleksandr Zuriyev, spoke up from his corner of the table. "There is less than five thousand of our people who made it here from our old lands, but most are fishermen, sailors, smiths, and leatherworkers. Only a handful can claim to have trained to hold an axe and a shield, and even less have ever fought in a true battle."

"Make your point, Aleksandr Ignatkovich." The tzarina couldn't help but look down upon Zuriyev, not just for his unwanted interjection, but also because of his infamous penchant for unorthodox, highly-unethical schemes to advance his own standing in the Kislevite court.

Zuriyev either ignored, or did not notice the icy tone in his queen's voice. "My point is, your glacial majesty, is that the Empire has little to gain from keeping us sheltered behind their walls. If I was in Karl Franz Luitpoldovich's unenviable position, I wouldn't waste what precious little amount of resources and space I have at my disposal in protecting a group of foreign peasants who would rather let my soldiers die in their place. Without your... abilities... my queen, I fear the Empire might throw us to the wolves."

Katarina resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I see the inebriated slurrings of my regretfully-departed courtiers are true, for once. Your concerns are noted, but I am doubtful of them. I trust the emperor to do what is right for Kislev, even as he pursues his own nation's interests in this world."

Some of the tzarina's subjects in the room arched their brows and crossed their arms at this, no doubt concerned about her high opinion of the only other monarch in New Praag. She could tell that they still resented how the Empire failed to sally forth in time to fight the Everchosen's invasion, and this resentment extended to the emperor.

"But I am not doubting Karl Franz's honour, oh no. Not by any means." Zuriyev continued, shaking his head. His voice kept calm, and his face remained neutral and inexpressive. "I know full well how unlikely my concerns can manifest, but still, there is wisdom in preparing for the unlikely." As Katarina thought on his words, the boyar pressed on. "You would do well to ensure that Karl Franz's good graces stays upon us even after this war, majesty... and what better way to do that, than to unite our two nations of men once and for all time?"

The boyar's suggestion was met with stark silence, and for once, the surviving Kislevite aristocrats around the tzarina had ceased their prattling and whispering.

"My queen!"

The oppressive silence was broken by the door slamming open, after which in came a trio of ragged-looking kossar sentries.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion, soldier?" Yuvulev said upon recognising the men as his own. "Haven't you orders to remain outside and keep us from being disturbed?"

"I'm sorry, my lord, but the Reiklanders have sent knights to the palace gates," One of them said. "One of them said something about their emperor wanting to have an audience with the tzarina... in private."

Zuriyev put down his kvas, and glanced knowingly at his queen. It lasted only a second, and he even didn't open his mouth to speak, but the coy look on his youthful, unblemished face conveyed his message well enough.

As she gracefully took her leave from her throne, the look of utter contempt Katarina returned to Zuriyev would have literally chilled lesser men to their bones, but the boyar sat serenely in response, a look of smug contentment gracing his smirking features.

Outside the queen's ice palace, she was greeted by the sight of her new retinue of winged lancers outfitted in scuffed and dented plates standing at the ready for her, trying their best to keep a cadre of fresher-looking, shining Imperial knights occupied.

"Your majesty!" One of the knights shoved past the lancer blocking her way and raised a gauntleted hand upon seeing the Kislevite monarch leaving her glacial estate. "Kaiser Franz humbly requests your presence in—"

"Yes, I am aware, lady knight." The Ice Queen interrupted.

"Would you like an escort, my queen?" Another of the Imperials had asked.

"There is no need for you to trouble yourselves with me." Katarina waved him off, using the same motion to rally the lancers ahead of her. "One of you fetch me a horse. I've business with the Imperials."

* * *

 **AURELETH**

"—in disarray. Our falconers tell of a horde of armed free folk much more numerous than those that came before crossing our borders to the west, burning everything in their..."

"—silent, as though they had to pack up and abandon their posts as quickly as possible. Already, there were dozens of our scouts passing through the gates, bloodied and missing some of those in their detachments. Could this mean that..."

"—Ulric's sake, we can't just sit here and do nothing! Every minute we waste here is another slab of rock over our tomb; we need every able man we can arm and point to the enemy! I say we deploy our warden and every man under his command beyond the walls, before the barbarians can..."

"—unwise decision, my graf. Perhaps a suitably impressive display of our wizards' sorcerous might could prove a good deterrent against an attack on the walls. I had a look at our defences the week before, and I cannot say I was impressed at..."

For most of her kind, sorting through a sea of human prattle to find clarity among the noise did not take too much effort. But for less-than-gregarious elves whom had spent much of their lives in isolation and complete silence, the wall of discordant voices proved defeaning, confusing even.

Aureleth shook her head, trying her hardest to follow what the short-lifers from the next table over were discussing. She had been living among humans for a while, and yet... she had to concede that she had yet to become accustomed to their company.

"Aureleth,"

The mention of her name shook the waystalker from her reverie. Sitting up straight, she glanced aside to the seat next to hers, finding her sacred charge looking back, a blank, inexpressive stare on his face.

"I know that look. You'd rather be elsewhere." Karl Franz said, sotto voce. While his generals and subordinates talked and bickered away the afternoon in his war room, the emperor hadn't said a word in contribution thus far. "Fret not, we both feel the same thing. This meeting is a waste of time."

"It's that obvious, is it?" Aureleth sighed, looking on at the chattering short-lifers with visible annoyance. "Yes, I suppose the foolishness of mayflies is unbearable at the best of times, but it can become simply too overwhelming. You know this too well, I'd wager." She looked for a reaction out of him, and she got one in the form of an amused scoff and a shake of the head.

With the emperor in a somewhat better mood, the waystalker dared to push her luck. "Is it too much to ask if you would be willing to leave, so I could follow you out and spare myself the indignity of going through this farce?"

The corner of Franz's scarred lip curled up, then settled back down. "I cannot simply leave, that would be improper. You, on the other hand, needn't stay." Reluctantly, he shifted on his own seat and set his sights back to his subjects, whom had begun to bicker. "Go on. Find a better use for your time."

The elf rolled her eyes at him, mischief glittering in her pale eyes. "Tempting. But I think I'll pass up on the offer. Perhaps I am beginning to enjoy seeing you suffer through this."

The emperor glanced aside to her, his eyes faintly glowing with subdued mirth. "I see. Well, I hope your intolerance for human foolishness does not trouble you overmuch, as you will see much more of it in my service. It is a good counterbalance to elven arrogance, don't you think?"

A condescending chortle was the waystalker's response. "As much as I would like to, I cannot argue with that. With your foolishness and my arrogance, our cause is surely doomed."

He smirked, "If that is the case, then I shall rest easy in my grave, having made a proud daughter of Athel Loren admit to a flaw. An achievement for the ages, no doubt."

Aureleth struck Franz by the elbow in mock-offence. "Oh, do still that prickly tongue of yours, Karl Franz. Else I will stop taking it easy on you the next time we train."

Franz did not look as smug as before, though he did not back down. "Do as you wish, waystalker. I am not one to refuse a challenge."

Aureleth took note of how some of the emperor's lackeys started shooting glances at the two of them once in a while, and took that as her cue to back away for now. "With respect — don't say I didn't warn you."

The meeting went on for another hour. During that time, more new arrivals dropped by to include themselves in the discussions, including several battle wizards and even the Kislevite queen, Tzarina Bokha. Karl Franz voiced his opinion every now and then, but Aureleth could tell from his flat, unfocused expression that his thoughts were elsewhere, and with the way his shoulders tensed, it was not somewhere comforting.

"Karl Franz Luitpoldovich, if I may..." Aureleth heard the queenly ice witch talk. Her way of speaking Reikspiel was peculiar, with a distinct Kislevarin lilt. "My people are anxious to hear of your future plans, once this war with the natives of this land is concluded in our favour. Tell me, then, what is it you intend to make of Kislev?"

For once, upon hearing the spellsinger addressing him directly, Karl Franz seemed to break out of his stupor.

"Kislev... deserves to be restored." The emperor said. "I've been speaking with the electors; I convinced them to see that if we are to establish an Empire reborn in this world, then what better ally for us is there, compared to the nation that stood defiant against Chaos since even before its founding, led by the formidable sorceress-queen who could create entire cities on her own? As soon as Mance Rayder is dealt with, your people can count on the Empire to support you in any way we can, your majesty."

Hearing this, the ice queen nodded in approval, her pale cheeks flushing ever so slightly. "So be it. I can only hope to repay your generosity in time, but for now, I think my warriors... and my abilities, will suffice."

Watching quietly from her corner of the room Aureleth could not help but be impressed at how deftly Franz could manipulate his Kislevite counterpart. A single promise, and she was all but ready to declare herself his vassal. The elf idly wondered how a nation of her own would fare, had she been born into a position of power.

The rest of the proceedings went by in a blur. The waystalker spent the time waiting in the shadows until the end, as the guests finally seemed to have come to an agreement and began filing out of the room.

"Hold a moment if you'd please, Katarina Borisovna," Franz called out to the Kislevite monarch just as she was putting her cloak back on. "I believe there is another matter we must discuss, if you're willing."

The Ice Queen smiled reservedly, leaving the gilded cloth draped over her chair. "Of course; I was just wondering when you will ask. What is it you have in mind?"

The emperor opened his mouth, then closed it again. "It is... something that requires a modicum of discretion." He looked behind his shoulder to Aureleth's corner. "Waystalker, forgive me, but I trust that you are not opposed to showing yourself out?"

The waystalker sighed as she stood up from her seat. "Eager to get rid of me, are you? Whatever the two of you will say to each other, you can trust me to keep my mouth shut about it. I take no interest in your affairs, as my only concern is my duty to Queen Ariel."

"I know." Franz nodded in understanding. "And I have no reservations to your presence whatsoever, even if you do insist on shadowing my every move. Even Schwarzhelm would prefer to spend a few days resting and inspecting the Reiksguard." There he was with his mocking smirk again. It was gone as soon as Aureleth noticed it. "However, I do not think the tzarina—"

"Her presence is out of the question." Bokha interrupted flatly. The steady, half-lidded glare she gave the elf was unsurprisingly charged with ice magic, something ordinary humans could not have detected. "I have been told this is a private matter between the emperor and myself. I would prefer it that way."

Franz said no more, merely giving the waystalker a questioning, if somewhat apologetic look.

She hadn't a choice in the matter, it seemed. Shaking her head disapprovingly, the waystalker left without a word.

"Would you prefer something to drink before we begin?" She heard Franz speak just as she twisted the door handle and stepped outside.

"That depends. Is it business you wish to discuss, or is this more of a social call, Karl Franz Luitpoldovich?" Came the demure response from Bokha.

Scoffing, Aureleth shut the door and hurried away. She was only a couple of snow-footed steps out the door, when she had to shift aside to avoid being crushed underfoot by a rapidly-advancing column of white-and-black-feathered demigryphs bestrode by knights in red and white livery.

Resisting the urge to shout after the departing demigryph knights with a string of insults in mixed Reikspiel and Fan-Eltharin, Aureleth calmed herself so she could address the incoming formation of Ostland state troopers now headed her way.

"Halt! You there!" She called to the soldiers marching closest to her, raising her hand in a commanding gesture. "I need the identities of those knights ahead of us, Khaine's talons, those mongrels almost ran me over!"

The hapless spearman Aureleth flagged down squirmed in place, mumbling his words and clearly too terrified and confused to function. Fortunately for him, before Aureleth could direct her wrath toward him, a passing officer pulled him aside and took his place.

"Get back in formation, lad. I'll handle this." The officer turned to the waystalker as soon as his fellow soldier hurried off. "You've a score to settle with the Drakwald Riders' elite, I take it? Trust me, elf, it'd be a mistake to piss off the Royal Altdorf Gryphites."

Aureleth's hand strayed to the hilt of one of her blades, a low growl rising in her throat. "The only mistake here is theirs, mayfly. Tell me who they—"

"By Sigmar, do save your breath." The Ostlander began to turn aside to rejoin his comrades on the march. "If you wish to escalate this, then take it up with them _after_ we lift the siege."

The waystalker perked an pale golden brow, her hand falling slack. "What did you just..."

Seeming to relish the surprised look on Aureleth's face, the officer promptly turned on his heel and took his leave. The urge to put an arrow behind the impudent short-lifer's knee almost overwhelmed the waystalker, though she had enough of her wits to know how terrible that idea was, no matter how appealing.

"Lileath preserve me..." After taking a breath, the waystalker began shadowing the marching Ostlanders, taking care to stay well out of sight, but not out of earshot.

"I hope my brother's doing fine out there. I knew it was a mistake letting him join the huntsmarshal's men." One of the soldiers chatted inanely, twiddling with the ends of his moustache in thought as he did.

"Lukas is a tough lad, and the huntsmarshal's boys are just as tough. He'll pull through, you'll see." A second state trooper reassured the other.

"Aye, he's tough, alright. A bit thick in the 'ead, but yeah. Tough."

"Oi, did somebody piss on your boots last night? My brother could be lying dead on the snow by now, arsehole!"

More worthless chatter from the mayflies ensued, but Aureleth kept patient. It wasn't until the settlement gates were well within longbow distance when she managed to hear the middle of an exchange between a foot knight and a crossbowman;

"...came out of nowhere, the lass said. Lady von Mannstedt's boys didn't even have enough time to set up a proper defence before rocks started falling out of the sky."

"Looks like the free folk brought either catapults or those Bretonnian things that could launch a ninety kilogram projectile over three hundred metres. This can only mean one thing, I swear by Taal."

"The word you're looking for is "trebuchet", mate. Anyway, why look so worried? At least you crossbow-wielders get to be on top of the walls, shooting from cover and from a safe distance. I have to be with my brothers at the front, or they'd kick me out of the order!"

"Safe? Hah! You haven't been behind the wrong side of the walls during a siege yet, have you, Maxi? The last thing you want to be when the cannons and those caveman _trebuchets_ start shooting is right ontop the bloody walls. At least you knights get to wear full-plate and stand on solid ground!"

Deciding that she had heard enough, Aureleth emerged from the shadows and made her way ahead of the soldiers. She went straight for the walls, where she found hundreds upon hundreds of state troops already in position, tentatively looking ahead and tightly clutching their assortment of handguns and crossbows. Behind them, the crews of the artillery batteries mounted to the walls had begun plotting their firing trajectories, while battle wizards planned among themselves, though they seemed much less on edge compared to the rank-and-file soldiers manning the battlements.

"Are you lost, elf?"

Aureleth turned to the side and found a group of mixed state troopers and Freikorps militia beginning to gather before her, looking at her with curious eyes.

"No." She told them. "I am not. This is where I belong."

* * *

 **THE EMPIRE**

Saltzpyre's mouth was set in a disgusted sneer as wave after wave of free folk came pouring out of the trees, unaware of their impending doom.

"Make ready, comrades!" He commanded. "Choose your targets! Quickly!"

Beside him, his retinue of other witch hunters brought their armaments to bear. Those poor fools fighting alongside his men had no idea about the great pains the witch hunter captain had to endure just to find and employ someone capable and insane enough to reverse-engineer captured Clan Skryre weaponry, especially those who were willing to be exposed to warpstone emissions for hours at a time. Fortunately, Saltzpyre always had a pistol and a torch at hand whenever his contractors begun growing appendages where they should not belong.

Now, after burning through thousands of hard-earned crowns and corrupted engineers, Saltzpyre was pleased to see the results of all those sacrifices he and his contractors made.

"On your word, captain." Hans muttered, voice muffled by his mask. Downrange, he stared at a mounted barbarian's head through his gunsights, unruffled by the chaos of his surroundings.

"Hold fire, keep steady!" With a gloved hand settled atop his cane and the other clenched into a fist in the air, the templar captain kept his eye on the prize. The advancing savages were unaware that they were running headlong into another cache of explosives and magical wards. "Let them come!"

While withering the enemy with steel and bolt as soon as they come within effective range would have scattered the enemy in due time, Saltzpyre wanted more than just shatter themselves against his forces combined with Huntsmarshal Wulfhart's. He wanted them utterly broken in body and spirit, their capability to wage war neutralised completely.

"His axe shone silver in the dark, his brow was wrathful booooold!" Goreksson continued to sing, even as giant rocks started raining all around them, crushing those unfortunate enough to be at the wrong place and time.

"We march like thunder on the hills, to riiiiight the wrongs of ooooold!" Okrundsson followed after his cousin as he passed munitions around, ignoring the constant threat of imminent death by falling stones with enviable stoutness and cheer.

"You two, keep it down!" Saltzpyre reprimanded off-handedly, like a busy parent to a noisy pair of siblings. "Now is not the time to indulge in your frivolities!"

"Hah! This is just like old times, Grimgi!" Bardin merrily replied after helping a fallen comrade up.

The witch hunter captain scoffed, not quite keeping the edge of his lip from curling upward.

At the same time, while Saltzpyre and his people handled the defence of the Imperial forward base, Markus Wulfhart and around three dozen of his own were on the hunt. After deftly avoiding marauding hordes of free folk raiders, they finally managed to find their target hidden away in a secluded clearing — and to their elation, the huntsmen realised they were going up something much more familiar than just wildling stone-caster crews.

"...Vigdis says the rocks ain't hitting the right places, but fuck what that lying, skinchanging, feather-brained bitch thinks! We just need t' keep raining more rocks at the kneelers, aye!" The leader of these group of raiders ranted and raved at his fellows, who stood to attention and left their stone-casters unmanned. Among these raiders were monstrous, man-shaped creatures, easily ten or twelve feet tall, with grey, white, or brown hair covering what little skin that wasn't covered up in patched animal furs and bark armour. "Get back t' work, ya sorry lot, else you next find out how high up these rocks can fly!"

Wulfhart stared at the hairy trolls as they diligently went about their leader's directions. Seeing these creatures ignited something in the huntsmarshal that had long since cooled, ever since he and his fellows were whisked away from the Old World. It had been far too long since he had hunted monsters, and now, Ulric had seen it fit to remind him the thrill of chasing such formidable prey.

"Ready weapons, everyone..." Wulfhart hissed. With a raised hand, he gestured for a woman in his company — a spearwife turncloak and a recent convert to the Ulrican faith. "Osha, do you see those lumbering eyesores over there? What's the quickest way to bring something like that down?"

Osha made her way next to Wulfhart, her brown eyes ahead toward the targets, anxiously fiddling with the wolfshead pendant hanging from her neck. "Ain't too wise trying to bring down a giant, and taking on more'n one is just asking to become intimate with the ground, m'lord... but if I had to, I'd go for the legs, then the eyes. They do bleed and die just like everything else."

"Good. Is there anything else we need to take into account?"

"Aye. Giants have an affinity for mammoths. Where there be giants, expect the beasts nearby."

"Mammoths?" The huntsmarshal's grin was borderline predatory. "You hear that, lads? We've also mammoths to hunt down. Jolly good."

* * *

 **WOLFHARD**

"You handle a sword well... for a land-stealing kneeler."

Bruised from the beatings he took and nursing his wounded pride, Wolfhard looked up from the marching motions of his boots to the free folk raider now walking alongside him.

"Why, you are too kind, sir." The hunter forced a red grin, grateful that he couldn't see how many teeth he was missing. "Want to take a closer look?"

He raised his arms, which were bound together in thick ropes. "Set me loose from these binds and I'll be happy to show you just just how good I am with my blade, starting with your mates here." He looked around, pointedly eyeing the other barbarians taking him captive.

"Cool that fire o' yours. It didn't do you any good before, and it won't do you good now." The wildling, dark and fierce-looking, with a well-built physique and auburn hair, shrugged off Wolfhard's threat. "If I were you, I'd rest up. Where you're going, it's best t' hold onto yer strength."

Wolfhard spat a mixture of phlegm and blood into the snow. "And where is that, then? What reason could it be that I was taken prisoner instead of being killed where I stood?"

The wildling smirked, looking quite pleased with himself. "An Empire-man who lets himself be taken alive is a rare an' precious thing indeed; many of the chieftains be offerin' rewards for any man brave enough to bring them captive kneelers such as yourself, especially any pretty womenfolk. Can't say I blame them... I hear you've a lot of beauties among your people."

His smirk turned into a full, disgusting grin at Wolfhard's disturbed reaction to his words. "I also hear they're all soft an' timid, fattened by your weakling southron ways and too meek to slit the throats of their limp-pricked husbands. Reckon once we break down your walls, your wives an' daughters'll come runnin' to us, eager for true men t' come spread their legs and fuck them proper."

Wolfhard wished he had free hands and a sharp object to shove into the wildling's throat. He settled for a glare fit to bubble a cauldron over. "Either you haven't been paying attention, northlander, or you haven't been fighting us for long. Our womenfolk would much rather see the colour of your entrails than see you try to fumble your way through your trousers."

"Hah! If only you could see how hard my cock is right now..." The wildling chortled, clearly enjoying taunting his helpless captive. "Nothing gets me randier than the thought o' plowin' bitches who try to fight back."

Leering at Wolfhard's scowling face, the wildling reached out and roughly took hold of the hunter's cheek. "Aw, and look at 'im, lads. I think our kneeler's feelin' all left out! Heh, before we hand you over, I'm sure a few o' my men here would appreciate a gift of your arse. Ain't that right, lads?"

There were rowdy cheers from some of the raiders, and a few of the spearwives too.

"Du wirst in Qualen sterben..." Wolfhard growled as the wildling let go of him, stormy grey eyes glowing with fury and hatred. "Ich schwöre es."

Not letting the insults and the lecherous remarks from the barbarians get to him, Wolfhard marched in silence with his captors. They passed through more free folk camps, makeshift armories packed with locally-made weaponry and scavenged or stolen Empire gear alike, and even what appeared to be an engineer's open-topped workshop, with scores of busy wildlings working together to assemble the pieces of what looked to be primitive stone-throwers.

If the hunter had to guess, deserters from the Night's Watch provided these savages the knowledge to build crude siege equipment. He almost chuckled at the sight of the pitiful, ramshackle things — the free folk had to rely on them to breach New Praag's walls.

"You there! Stop!" Suddenly, the auburn-haired raider leading Wolfhard's captors stopped in his tracks and raised his arm to hail one of the wildlings milling about. "Listen to me, boy! Might ye have any idea where the fuck've the Thenns camped down?"

"Down tha' way." Came the disinterested reply, which was accompanied by a wave of the hand towards a deeper part of the forest. Wolfhard couldn't help but notice this young man's bare feet, which appeared blackened at the soles as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "What's it t' you an' yours, Jarl? Why do ye want t' see those earless pricks?"

"Fuck you, Hornfoot. Mind your own business." The raider, Jarl, quickly took his leave of the other man. "Come on, you lot! Let's go."

The wildlings soldiered on, forward onto the path they were directed to. Wolfhard immediately noticed how his captors seemed on edge, their attentions focused on either each other or the journey ahead, which suited the hunter just fine. Perhaps the fewer pairs of eyes on him could be used to his advantage while trying to find an opportunity to break free and escape.

"Hmm..." The templar muttered, trying not to draw attention to himself as he began rubbing his wrists together, tugging at his binds in hopes of loosening them. All the while, he continued looking around, eyeing his captives and any potential weapon he could use, once he was free.

"I think we're headed the wrong way." Someone at the front piped up. "Jarl, which way did the Hornfoot lad told us t' follow?"

"The one we're treadin' on, ice-for-brains." Jarl was quick to shut the woman down. "Now quiet down, an' keep moving."

"Wait, Jarl. I don't think Denya's wrong." Unexpectedly, the wildling adjacent to Wolfhard also spoke up. "I remember. This ain't the way t' the Thenn camp... we're headin' down south, closer t' the Wall."

At this, Jarl was forced to stop walking and look around. "It's been a long time," He said, still full of bravado, but not as certain as before. "This Hardhome shite... it's been more'n a year since my last raid south. Aye, let's retrace our steps."

Slowly, the wildling raiding party turned around, with some looking visibly annoyed at their blunder. Before they could continue their journey, however, they were only a few paces forward when they sprung a terrible surprise.

Wolfhard was one of the first to see them coming. The first sign he got that all hell was about to break loose was the flurry of movement from behind some of the trees and bushes around. Wisely deciding to drop to the ground, the hunter managed to avoid getting feathered with arrows and bolts from multiple directions.

His wildling "companions" fared much worse. Half of them dropped alongside Wolfhard, either dead or merely wounded. The other half reacted quickly enough, and managed to avoid getting shot by running to cover.

From his position on the ground, Wolfhard heard the distinctive sound of a blade leaving its sheathe.

"Make ready, boys!" Someone cried out.

Wolfhard could hear more blades being drawn. He crawled along the ground and turned to lie on his back, managing to snatch a dagger from a dead wildling.

"For the Watch! ATTACK!"

Around two dozen soldiers in darkened leathers and scant pieces of mail and plate rushed out of the undergrowth, their black cloaks billowing behind them. By the time they reached Jarl's party in close combat, Wolfhard had managed to cut through his binds.

Deciding that waiting for the fighting to die out while lying alongside dead or wounded raiders was liable to get him misidentified as an enemy of the Night's Watch, Wolfhard soon decided to take out his grievances on his former captors. With his dagger in hand, he approached a spearwife from behind. Busy as she was from engaging two of the crows already, she couldn't defend herself as the hunter plunged his blade into her spine, before reaching ahead and slitting her throat.

"Stay back!" One of the crows the dead spearwife was fighting before, merely a lad, hobbled a few paces back as Wolfhard stepped close. "W-who the fuck are you?"

Wolfhard ignored the boy as he waved his sword in front of him, clumsily attempting to look intimidating. Instead, the templar eyed the wildling corpses at his feet for weapons he could use. Luckily enough, he managed to spot a wooden stock half-buried in the snow, and sure enough, after pulling it free, Wolfhard was elated to find himself holding his repeater handgun again.

Properly rearmed, the templar wasted no time throwing himself into the fray, shooting down any wildling raider that crossed his line of sight. The crows he found himself fighting alongside seemed both disturbed and afeared by the strange weapon Wolfhard carried to battle, but he also could tell they were glad he was on their side.

The skirmish ended as quickly as it started, as the ambushed wildlings found themselves outnumbered and overwhelmed, cut down not long after the initial volley of arrows. Still, Wolfhard felt disappointed to see a handful of them escaping into the forest.

"Thank you, ser, for your assistance." One of the black-clad rangers approached Wolfhard, bow and arrow in hand. This one appeared much sharper and more senior than the boys he had for comrades, and his half-smile and friendly demeanour put Wolfhard a little more at ease. "I am First Ranger Benjen Stark, of the Night's Watch." He introduced himself, extending a gloved hand.

Wolfhard took the man's offered hand and gave it a firm shake. "Call me Wolfhard," He said, retracting his hand. "It's been a while since I've talked with your kind, Benjen Stark. Tell me, how is Ser Jaremy Rykker nowadays?"

Stark appeared surprised to hear Rykker's name for a second. "He is... well enough, I suppose. What are you doing out here, Ser Wolfhard?"

"Just Wolfhard is fine, I am apparently unfit to become a knight." Wolfhard smirked. "I making my way to my guard post to watch over a forward camp early this day, when I was ambushed by our dead friends here and taken captive. They said they planned to hand me over to the Thenns tribe."

He put away his weapon. "The fools didn't know how to guard a prisoner. I would have freed myself in due time," His tone was cavalier, as though he was merely telling the price of a market stall item. "But, I suppose it is fortunate you came to my rescue as you have. Thank you for that."

"It's nothing," Stark nodded. "So, is it true, then? Rykker spoke of an Empire settling beyond our Wall — he spoke of a nation of warriors and warlocks engaged in a war against Mance Rayder and the free folk. We were skeptical of him at first, but the rangers he took with him all supported his story."

"Unbelievable, right? Had I been in your shoes, First Ranger Stark, I would call Ser Jaremy mad... but yes, it's true. Since you're here, might I presume that your lord commander has decided it wise to assist us against the free folk?"

Stark was understandably uncomfortable with Wolfhard's line of inquiry. "I must apologise, Wolfhard, but our situation at the moment is... sensitive. While I cannot speak for Lord Commander Mormont, I can offer to escort you to him, so you may hear the answer to your question from his lips."

The templar shrugged. "Fair enough."

* * *

 **THE EMPIRE**

At Captain Saltzpyre's front, things seemed grim for the common soldier about to come into contact with a seemingly unending tide of angry barbarians. But for someone like the witch hunter captain, it was just another day in the service of Sigmar and the Empire.

"TAKE COVER!" He shouted, covering his ears. It was all the warning the men got before a fiery, magic-infused eruption consumed a sizable chunk of the advancing wildling horde, shattering trees into splinters and sundering the earth in its wake.

Shaking his head, Saltzpyre dragged himself up from cover and surveyed the damage. Clenching his teeth in grim satisfaction, he raised his cane in the air, towards the shaken remnants of this charging wave of free folk. "For Sigmar and the Hammer! LET FLY, ALL GUNS!"

From the Imperial defensive line, over a hundred muzzle flashes erupted at once, quickly followed by a hurricane of shot and grudge-raker pellets. The snow under the northlander's boots quickly became tainted with blood and gore as scores upon scores of the barbarians were cut down where they stood, torn apart by forces they could scarce comprehend.

Still, the free folk continued to advance.

"Reload, reload!" The templar captain cried out amidst the sounds of battle, waving his cane in circles around the air. "By von Meinkopt, shoot! Shoot NOW!"

Another volley of projectiles did the same amount of damage as the last, but it also failed to slow the wildling charge. If anything, the deaths of their comrades somehow spurred the northlanders on, inspiring their wrath. By now, the enemy had come dangerously close to the front of Saltzpyre's formation, forcing him to resort to more drastic measures.

"Maxim, von Gast, bring forth... the ratling— err, the _Senden_ _heavy repeater_!"

Not a moment too soon, a team of two witch hunters came running to the front, both carrying the two main components of what appeared to be a cannon-sized, belt-fed, eight-barrelled repeater handgun, with exposed tubes running down its metallic frame and operated by a hand crank.

"Over here, set it down!" One of them, the one carrying the munitions pack, shook her partner's shoulder.

"All set!" The templar manning the gun itself said, as soon as he was finished entrenching. "Ready to fire on your order, captain!"

Memories of being on the wrong side of this dreadful gun dozens upon hundreds of times rushed over Saltzpyre. He squashed these thoughts, as he did the verminous heathens that once manned them. Just before the northlanders could come too close for comfort, he gave the command, "Show these savages Imperial ingenuity! Sigmar wills it!"

The templar weapons team seemed almost reluctant to use their gun. The hunter up front slowly turned the crank, lips pursed and cheeks flushed as he looked downrange.

 _Krak._

The first bullet from the gun came almost as a surprise, it sounded almost too quiet to hear, like a twig being snapped in half.

 _Krak, krak,_ _krak_ _._

Before long, as the hunter continued to turn the crank, more bullets zipped after the first. It was not obvious at first, but the gun seemed to have very little recoil, and was surprisingly easy to aim with. Its rate of fire also seemed to accelerate at an alarmingly swift rate, making the gunner's teeth rattle.

 _Krak,_ _krak_ _,_ _krak_ _,_ _KRAK_ _, KRAK,_ _KRAK_ _,_ _KRAK_ _,_ _KRAK, **KRAKRAKRAKRAK**_ —

Heads turned and eyes grew wide with awe and disbelief as the steady, almost hesitant stream of bullets rapidly grew into a terrifying hail of Nuln-forged, blackpowder-propelled steel, blanketing a generous arc with more than enough firepower to rival a formation of the Empire's best-drilled handgunners. Droves of surprised wildlings were torn to fleshy ribbons were they stood in the most gruesome manner as their more fortunate comrades recoiled in horror and scrambled to hide behind any sold thing they could find, their once-inexorable charge sent screeching to a bloody halt.

"Grimgi?" Bardin watched as the single, two-man weapon brutally suppressed the advance of an entire horde of free folk dead in its tracks. "I think you missed your calling as an engineer."

"Bah, you call that thing a product of engineering? I bet it's not even had a decade's worth of testing! Proper umgak, is what it is!" Okri tried to sound dismissive, but his awed tone betrayed him. "Proper, scarily-effective umgak..."

All the while, Saltzpyre beheld the fruits of his work with a restrained, narrow-eyed smile. "Stand down, men..." He ordered. "Take the dead and wounded away and reload. We've been given some time, and we would be wise not to squander it!"

Far ahead, in the depths of the frozen, wildling-controlled woods, Huntsmarshal Wulfhart blew a sharp whistle with his fingers.

As one, his men emerged from cover and let loose, unleashing a barrage of arrows and quarrels into the ranks of the wildling stone-caster battery crews. The opening volley felled many of barbarians before any of them could realise the danger in their midst, and by the time they scrambled to pick up their weapons and shields, it was too late to protect themselves from the second volley.

"Ah, fuck me! The kneelers're in the trees!"

"Run for it, ya runts! Save yerselves!"

"Again!" A third arrow already nocked and drawn back, Wulfhart took aim against the giant he targeted earlier, already on its knees after being feathered with over two dozen arrows and quarrels. "Take aim... release!"

Much to Wulfhart's subsequent surprise, more arrows than his men let loose seemed to materialise from the trees where he was sure none of his own were positioned, killing more of the wildlings caught out in the open and sending the rest scrambling for cover behind anything they could find, abandoning any further attempts to flee the clearing.

Still baffled at the unexpected support, Wulfhart and his huntsmen could only look on as a small group of shrouded warriors clad in green and brown and mounted on majestic white steeds charged from out the trees ahead of the Imperials, felling any wildling in their way with very precise, mounted arrow volleys, along with a swing of the sword or glaive here and there.

"Strike for Lord Findol, and for Wydrioth! Forward, asrai!"

"Eldrazor take them! To arms, TO ARMS!"

Beside Wulfhart, Osha's mouth hung agape, unsure of what to make of the carnage she was witnessing. "Gods, who're these folk?" She mumbled, "I've ne'er seen men fight like they do. Be they friends or foes to the Empire?"

"Wood elf rangers... likely a detachment from that black-eyed lordling's lot," Wulfhart put away his enchanted longbow, already losing interest in the new arrivals. "I hope they're friends... for both their sakes and ours." Instead, he kept the huntsmarshal eyes trained on his soon-to-be mantelpiece ornaments. Turning behind, he ordered his men,

"Volker, Trudolf, take charge and keep shooting. Have a care not to hit any of the elves or their mounts. As for the rest of you, take up your swords and follow me!" He unsheathed his blade and broke out of cover, unwilling to let these knife-eared interlopers ruin his first monster hunt in several boring months. "Send these heathen swine to their graves, men of the Empire! TO BATTLE!"

The huntsmarshal's steel flashed in the fading sunlight, cutting apart his lightly armoured foes with terrifying ease. While state troops fought with discipline and no small amount of coordination with one another, Wulfhart and his huntsmen fought like lions, relying almost entirely on their own martial skill and honed reflexes to not only stand their ground against, but also overpower multiple foes at once. In contrast, Osha and her fellow wildling defectors struggled to keep up, thoroughly outclassed by their Imperial comrades.

"Back away! Back, by th' gods!" One of the raiders exclaimed as his woefully unprepared comrades were hewn and hacked apart from two fronts. Even their giants proved no match against concentrated longbow volleys, their furry hides proving insufficient in deflecting steel arrows.

It was over within moments. Between Wulfhart's men and the party of wood elves, the wildling stone-caster crews did not have a prayer. Many of the free folk were outright killed in the skirmish, but a few survived to be bound captive by the huntsmarshal's people, including a wounded giant.

"Gut gemacht, Kameraden..." Wulfhart began, after a while. He looked around, surveying the carnage his men left behind. "How many have we lost?"

"Von Stutheim is dead, and so are three of our wildling auxiliaries, mein Herr." Came the eventual reply, "We have nine wounded, with six unfit for combat."

Wulfhart processed this information. "I see. Let's not waste any more time, then. Reinhard, Viktor, take half the men and set up a perimeter; I need you to watch for stragglers. Osha, take your people and destroy the siege weapons. Take them apart, burn them to ashes, what have you. As for the rest..."

The huntsmarshal turned to the side, finding the elven newcomers already trotting their way to his group, their steeds trampling dead wildling bodies as they approached. "...prepare yourselves."

"Oh, please, there's no need for that." One of them, the one at the front of their formation, scoffed as she took note of the huntsmen's battle-ready stances and nocked arrows. "If we meant to cause harm, short-lifers, you would never see us coming."

"That so?" Wulfhart gruffed. With a wave of his hand, the huntsmarshal gestured for his men behind to relax, but not stand down outright. "In that case, I take it you want something from us."

"In a way, I suppose we do..." The elven ranger dismounted from her steed and moved close, intricate-looking spear in hand. Wulfhart couldn't see much of this elf, thanks to her obscuring leathers and shawls... but he could tell this one was a little shorter than most asrai, and the flowery wreath she wore over her hooded veil likely signalled her authority over her fellows. "I'll be brief, for our time is short. These barbarians have become too much of a threat, while Lord Amryn has become content to sit idle, awaiting Lileath's so-called "guidance". We have decided the time for waiting has come past, and that our blades and talents could see better use elsewhere."

Wulfhart arched a brow. Telling his men behind to quiet down, he then tried to get a clearer picture of what these elves wanted, "Do not mince words, tree elf. Tell me true, what is it you intend—"

"We wish to join your Empire. That is what we intend." The elf waved him off, with a dismissive roll of her eyes. "And don't look so surprised. Cunning little Aureleth has already infiltrated her way into your emperor's company; what harm can a few more of our kind do?"

Wulfhart looked to her with a skeptical expression. "And what would your immediate leader think of this? I doubt your lord would be pleased to hear of your defection."

"Hah! We follow who we please, short-lifer, and right now, Amryn is proving himself most unworthy of both our time and service. He displeases Kurnous and Atharti with every minute he wastes in his inaction."

The huntsmarshal and scoffed. "Even if that is truly the case, I can't make decisions for Emperor Franz. If you truly wish to join our Empire, then you're wasting your time with me. I suggest you and your mates ride your way east towa—"

The ground itself quaked, interrupting Wulfhart. Instinctively, he looked ahead to where he sensed the shockwaves coming, and found the very forest trembling; the faces carved into the white trees seemed to cringe in horror as prodigious amounts of snow were shaken off their branches, and the distant cries of panicked animals heralded the approach of a hostile force too formidable for the huntsmarshal and his people to handle.

"Osha! Douse those fires!" The huntsmarshal's voice rang around the clearing, strangled and hoarse. "Everyone, keep bloody still! Shallya's mercy, they'll pass by and fail to notice us!"

"Are you daft?" The elf half-whispered, half-shouted. "This'll never—"

Blood splattered the side of Osha's face as the spearwife beside her was flung into the air, speared at the chest by a massive arrow. She scrambled back, eyes wide with terror, narrowly managing to avoid another giant arrow hurtling her way. "Gods!"

Even the huntsmarshal was surprised to find a cohort of giants headed their way, and worse, they each had in their hands enormous greatbows as tall as themselves. He was just about to order his men to scramble for cover and return fire, when even more giants sat bestride mammoths also emerged at the back of another wildling formation, all wielding enormous wooden clubs and protected by thick furs and leathers. Within moments, the huntsmen and their elven allies found themselves beset by a formidable horde of wildlings supported by giants, a force nothing short of a full Imperial State batallion could stand against.

"There's no winning here," Wulfhart barked, already reluctant at the thought of leaving his new trophies behind. "Fall back, men! Abandon positions!"

* * *

 **KRUBER**

Captain Markus Kruber sat on the ground, leaning against a supply crate full of arms and munitions. He was dressed in his suit of full plate armour, and all around him, his fellow Reikland state troopers milled about, clutching their weapons tightly as they impatiently awaited orders.

"What's the matter, Markus?" A familiar sight sauntered up next to Kruber, a mock-pitying look on her face. "You look contemplative. Thinking about the battle ahead?"

"Aww, it ain't fit to worry about, Sienna." Kruber scratched his beard. He looked up at his bright wizard companion. "I was just... thinking about some old mates who couldn't make it here, is all."

"Oh." The msichievous look on Sienna's face dissipated in an instant, replaced with genuine concern. "Well, it doesn't hurt to have a friend you can talk about it with. Why don't you tell me about these mates of yours, hm?" She took up a position next to the state trooper captain, sitting down on her haunches.

Markus chuckled forlornly. "It's nothing, really. It's not about my old unit, or the blokes I've lost since regaining my post... well, not _all_ about them. I'd like to think I've since moved past that. It ain't a very healthy line of thinking." He sighed, his gaze moving to the side, into the crowded distance. "But..."

"But what, Markus?" Sienna frowned. "Is it about Kerillian?"

Kruber hoped his surprise didn't show. "Aye... and Lohner, too. Hell, even Oleysia would be a welcome sight for my nostalgic eyes."

"I miss them too, you know." Sienna said, her eyes glinting with the memories of their time in Ubersreik. The moment lasted only briefly, and before Kruber knew it, she was back to her mischievous old self. "Of all the people in our little group, I _knew_ I wasn't the only one who could stand Kerillian! Once you get past all those "mayflies" and "lumberfoots", she's not so bad, was she?"

Kruber smiled, leaning his head on the crate. "Yeah, heh, I'd guess so. It feels... wrong not to have her with us before a big battle. Think of all the northmen the five of us could kill. It'll be just like old times."

"Hah! We'll be the talk of this town by the time we're done with Mance Rayder's dogs." Sienna laughed gleefully, uncaring of how several pairs of eyes have just been drawn to her. "I got all sorts of good stuff when word of our exploits broke out. I've an admirer in every corner in Altdorf the last time I was there."

"I almost accepted a knighthood." Kruber confessed. "I turned it down when Karl Franz offered to give me my posting back, and a cushy retainer job with the supreme patriarch. I wonder sometimes, you know, had I accepted that commendation. "Sir Kruber" does roll off the tongue very well, eh?"

"Well, there's still more battles to come, Markus." Sienna said, picking herself up as the crowd of soldiers began to shift, indicating that their wait was about to come to an end. "And with battle, comes plenty more opportunities to earn that knighthood."

Captain Kruber nodded as the pyromancer helped him up. "We'll talk later, Sienna." Ahead, the distinctive forms of Emperor Franz and Tzarina Katarina could be seen making their way through the sea of troops, flanked by Reiksguards on foot. "Looks like this is it."

"This is it, men!" Emperor Franz declared as soon as he had found an elevated platform to stand on. When raised his hand, the men grew quiet, and when he opened his mouth to speak once more, they listened.

"Far ahead, to the woods beyond our walls, our enemies gather for a true invasion against our settlement. They seek to drive us out, and undo all we have accomplished! Will you stand for this injustice, stalwart defenders of Reikland? Will you let these barbaric heathen hordes trample the final civilised bastion of our Empire to the ground, and forsake our sacred duty in this world?"

Immediately, the men cried out in outrage and defiance.

"Never!"

"This shall not stand!"

"Down with Mance Rayder! Down with northlanders!"

"Sigmar willing, we'll make them pay!"

It was defeaning. But with a single wave of the emperor's hand, however, the men were silent again.

"Then hear this. I expect nothing less than the complete and utter destruction of Mance Rayder's ability to plague our nation again. To you, brave soldiers of Reikland, guardians of our realm, heirs of the Heldenhammer, I entrust the duty of breaking this tide of insolent raider filth! By my will, as prince and emperor, you will scatter the wildling hordes, and teach these barbaric, murdering, unwashed northlander scum to regret the day they inspired the Empire's wrath!"

Karl Franz raised a gauntleted fist to the air as a thundering cheer erupted among his subjects, who raised their weapons and roared themselves hoarse in their frenzied state.

"Defend your homes! ONWARD, REIKLANDERS! TO ARMS, TO ARMS!"

Captain Kruber needn't be told twice as he cheered and shouted alongside his own troops. Without further ado, he braced his halberd against his shoulder and bellowed for the others to follow. The other Reiklander captains did much the same with their own men, in accordance to the battle plan everyone had agreed on months prior.

The march to the gates was not without fanfare. Ordinary citizens — humans, dwarfs, and even a few elves here and there — looked on and waved and cheered as their brave guardians strode past, reminding the state troopers of the reason they had to place themselves in harm's way. With the presence of civilians and more than a few familiar faces in the crowd, a handful of Kruber's men took the time to break formation to say their farewells or reassurances one more time, but he paid them no mind. Kruber regretted never having to say a proper farewell to his own folks.

As the troopers reached the gates, the gatekeepers strained to grant them passage outside. As they passed the threshold and departed the safety of the walls, a sense of grim acceptance descended upon each of them, knowing that for many, it would be the last time they stood on the settlement grounds.

"Be brave, men. Be brave for Sigmar and Karl Franz."

"We'll get through this, I know. It's just a bunch of irate savages with sticks, right?"

"Alright, everyone, final check! Weapons, check. Armour, check. Hats, check! Great, if any of us die, he'd make for a handsome corpse!"

"Sigmar preserve us. Shallya, have mercy on us. Myrmidia, guide us. Morr, prepare for us."

"We've been through worse odds, lads, but don't let your guard down! The free folk are ill-disciplined, but they are crafty!"

Outside the city proper, Kruber ordered his men into position. Their goal was to hold the perimeter so that any escaping forward observers or skirmishers can be evacuated into the city, after which his men would continue to hold their ground as the handgunners and crossbowmen standing at the parapets above emptied their munitions on the advancing wildlings, thinning their ranks. With any luck, Kruber thought, the free folk would suffer enough casualties to prevent them from outright breaching the walls and invading the settlement.

The rapid thudding of heavy footfalls shook the captain out of his thoughts. He could hear more cheering from the men as the Reiksguard appeared on the field, mounted on their barded warhorses. Soon, the cheering devolved into outright whooping and excited hollering as the Royal Altdorf Gryphites also made their entrance, headed at the front by the distinguished Lord Klaus von Hohenstadt, the famed Drakwald Scourge.

The cries died down as soon as the mounted knights trotted forward and disappeared into the trees.

"Got room for us, Imperial?"

Kruber turned to the side, and was met with a most peculiar view. Any other time, he would have called his men to arms at the sight of wildlings, but he was familiar with these ones. And in fact, he had already been made aware of their part in the battle plans.

"Sure, mate. Take your sons and the rest of your men to our left," Kruber directed the defectors, gesturing where they would be needed. He thought about asking them to maintain a cohesive formation, but decided against the notion. "Plenty of opportunities to prove yourselves today, I reckon. Just don't go charging off without orders, aye?"

"Har!" Tormund Giantsbane heaved a breath of laughter. He looked like a very different man in his wildling furs, which had been reinforced with Imperial plate and mail, the pieces of which had been haphazardly painted in Reikland colours for easy identification. "Toregg, Dryn, Dormund, you heard the man! Everyone, get yer arses over there!"

Kruber watched the six score free folk auxiliaries make their way to their destination, keeping his thoughts on their sloppy positioning to himself. He took comfort in the fact that the unruly former raiders had agreed to submit themselves to be trained in proper soldiering, once the war was over. "Any more of your people coming to assist us, old man?"

Tormund smiled and nodded. "Aye. Val's up with her people atop the walls with bows in their hands, an' Longspear Ryk's lads will show up later, followin' one o' your chieftains — the one with the red beard, an' the golden castle on his head. Toddy was his name, I think."

He belted out another laugh, as though recalling a fond memory. "Fuckin' Toddy... did ya know that one-eyed bastard almost drank me under the table? If he weren't an obvious bloody kneeler, I'd set him up with Munda! Imagine the monstrous whelps they'd make."

Also smiling, Kruber only shook his head at the wilding's rambling. "Go on then, chief, get out of here. I'm sure you don't need reminding, sir, that we've an objective to hold."

Soon enough, as more soldiers from the other provinces trickled out of the gates, a veritable army of mismatched Imperials, dwarfs, Bretonnian men-at-arms, and wildling auxiliaries had gathered, a formidable force that Kruber knew would give any other army a sound trashing... against a reasonable number of foes. Against the entire population of free folk in the lands beyond the Wall, however, Kruber was not so sure.

"Here they come!" A shout from a state trooper at the central front of the Imperial formation sounded out. "Make way, men! Give them some space!"

A minute later, Kruber could see them coming without squinting. Sluggishly bounding away on the last reserves of their vigour, Imperial scouts, pathfinders, and skirmishers both mounted and on foot began spilling from out of the woods, with most sporting bloody uniforms and with some missing a limb here and there. Even with safety almost within reach, the fleeing Imperials did not slow down, as it quickly became apparent that they were being pursued by a tide of wildling raiders.

"Stand aside, lads!" As the first of the forward observers reached the braced formation of state troops, Kruber had his men move aside to let them through to the settlement behind. While a few score of them managed to reach the gates, it was too late for most as the free folk caught up with them in the middle of the field, just beyond effective handgun or crossbow range.

"Captain, those are our men those barbarians are slaughtering!" One of Kruber's soldiers exclaimed. "They're off to visit Grandfather Morr if we don't pull them out of there!"

"Hold steady, sergeant!" The captain briefly took his eyes from the new battle transpiring ahead to give his man an admonishing look. "Stay with your detachment! Our part depends on us maintainin' this spot!"

"But sir! What about our comrades?" Another had asked, grimacing as he relaxed out of a sprint-ready stance.

"Whatever happens, we stick to the plan!" Kruber was adamant, despite wishing nothing more than to help out. "Be ready, mates, but don't break formation! This is all part of—"

The deep, brassy howling of a war horn echoed across the field, interrupting Kruber. Dropping the dogged look on his face for a confused one, he turned his eyes to look to the field again, and immediately felt relief to see none other than the Royal Altdorf Gryphites, their weapons and armour already adorned with fresh smatterings of free folk blood, rapidly advancing to the fray, battle cries resounding from their helms, halberds couched and monstrous steeds charging at full speed toward the enemy's left flank.

The wildlings, distracted already in the process of slaughtering hapless, exhausted Imperials, barely managed to brace themselves just before the small band of screaming inner circle knights and their bloodthirsty mounts crashed into their ranks. A gruesome, awe-inspring spectacle ensued for Kruber and his fellows to observe, as the demigryph knights, led by the gallant form of the Drakwald Scourge, carved their way through the horrified raiders with steel and beak, sending fountains of gore and mutilated bodies flying across the field like discarded toys.

Kruber was transfixed on his spot, his eyes never leaving the gruesome display of combined martial prowess and brute, monstrous force. He was only jolted out of his trance when a gloved hand was placed on his shoulder, before it extended to the right of the field, pointing at something just beyond his peripheral vision.

"Sir, look there!"

Annoyed at the interruption, Kruber spared a bleary-eyed glare to where his man gestured at, and once again, found himself surprised to see a third party approaching, mounted on magnificent ivory-white coursers.

"For Kurnous!" Could be very faintly heard in the distance as a small group of what looked to be wood elven rangers, each with their own steed. Moving much faster than Kruber thought possible for mere cavalrymen, the elves unleashed a few quick volleys of arrows into the flanked wildling raiders' backs before immediately closing the distance between themselves and their quarry, brandishing an assortment of spears, glaives, and greatswords.

The results of the elven charge was, much to Kruber's shock and mounting fear, almost as impressive and devastating as the Gryphites', if less brutal and more elegant. The wildlings, faced by a squadron of the Empire's best demigryph-riding knights on one front, and an inhumanly swift cadre of extremely versatile mounted asrai skirmishers on another, found themselves suffering tremendous casualties at almost no cost to their attackers. It was only until hundreds of their own lie dead on the snow did they abandon their reckless charges in favour of a more prudent advance, with shielded warriors at the front, spearmen following behind, and archers distancing themselves from the melee.

Seeing their foes rallying in response to their attacks, the Gryphites, along with their new wood elven allies, saw no reason to stay in the fight. After dealing one last decisive blow on the advancing barbarian horde, they promptly carved their way out of the throng before disengaging completely. Together, the demigryph knights and the wood elven rangers retreated from the field, leaving behind many a frustrated wildling without nearby enemies to vent their fury on.

"Bloody hell. Can't say I've ever seen anything like _that_ display," One of Kruber's sergeants muttered to himself, perhaps expecting not to be heard. Kruber, despite all he had seen and experienced in Ubersreik already, found himself nodding in agreement with the man.

While the rest of the captain's men were disciplined and austere enough to keep their thoughts to themselves, Tormund and his boisterous folks held no such qualities.

"Gods alive, those riders _butchered_ Mance's boys! The cunts stood no chance, ha har!"

"I'd give an arm or a leg t' ride one of those beasties!"

"Y'see that, Dormund? A thing o' beauty, innit? A battle worthy o' song!"

Kruber paid them no mind as he focused his men's efforts on getting the last of the forward observers behind the walls. Wide-eyed and exhausted, most of the surviving scouts dragged themselves forward and entered the gates to safety at last, but a few handful remained to fight the slowly-encroaching free folk tide.

"Huntsmen, take a breath and prepare yourselves!" Huntsmarshal Wulfhart, injured and winded, simply emptied the contents of his water canteen into his throat before refilling his quiver and directing his men to form up next to the crossbowmen. "We're not done here. Not by a longshot."

Kruber stared down the compressed enemy ranks steadily making their way toward his formation, cautious and even hesitant at first, but with bolder and bolder strides as they waded closer, realising that they outnumber the Empire's soldiers a hundred to one.

"For Mance Rayder!", some of them cried out. "Death to kneelers!", others would shout.

Grimacing, Kruber waited for how he imagined the start of the battle would sound — a cacophony of barks and shouts from the other captains manning the parapets. "We trained our arses for _this_ day, lads! I'm proud of you — all of you! Today, we fight to survive, but tomorrow, we'll drink to our survival!"

The captain's speech, though fleeting compared to Emperor Franz's, was met with enthusiastic cheers from the men.

All the while, the wildlings continued to advance, their dented courage slowly renewed as the true battle for New Praag drew nigh. It was only a matter of time before those raiders at the front, perhaps driven by the desire of vengeance just as much as frenzied bloodlust, abandoned all pretenses and broke ranks, charging at the exposed state troopers while screaming bloody murder.

For many of the wildlings, their impulsive act sealed their fates.

"ALL GUNS, FIRE!"

"SHOOT!"

"NOW! ATTACK!"

"LET FLY!"

"KILL THEM!"

It was a sight to behold. Amidst a deafening barrage of sound and fury, Captain Kruber and his soldiers watched with stoic faces as the first wave of charging raiders were ripped apart by a tempest of bullets and crossbow bolts. Seeing their comrades at the front so casually obliterated in the blink of an eye, the second wave hesitated, suddenly reluctant to come close to the walls. This proved to be their undoing, as the skies rained down upon them salvo after salvo of mortars and helstorm rockets, partially blanketing the field in blackpowder smoke.

"Brace! Now, mates!" Kruber shouted, lowering his halberd. Beside him, his men did the same with their own halberds, forming a formidable defensive line supported from above by rows upon rows of handgunners and crossbowmen. "They're coming! Stand together!"

"Har! I can't fucking wait!" Tormund eyed the smoke cloud obscuring the field like a hawk searching for prey. Around him, his fellow defectors either stayed calm and waited for battle to come, or snorted like bulls and frothed at the mouth, gleeful at the prospect of proving their worth.

"This is it, soldiers!" Close to Kruber's formation, Captain von Witzland turned to his own men and banged his sword into his shield. "Eyes open! Prepare to—"

A pack of wolves charged from out of the smoke, pouncing on the surprised captain. His men could do nothing but leave their officer to be torn apart by the beasts as the main body of the wildling horde also advanced past the acrid blackpowder clouds, howling as they smashed themselves against the braced Imperial defenders.

Wave upon wave of the raiders tried their luck at breaking through Kruber's line, but all their ill-disciplined charges amounted to little in the face of a fortified bastion of steel and blackpowder, manned by hardened veterans of battles against greenskins, undead legions, and Chaos incursions.

As the minutes passed by, the packed snow under Kruber's boots began to turn red. The wildling tide was relentless; with every raider slain, five more seemed to take the fallen's place. Kruber was no stranger to situations like the one he was in, but he quickly learned that fighting crafty wildlings was very different compared to fighting dumb clan rats. It took all his wits and battlefield savvy to avoid being caught out of formation and overwhelmed. The majority of the state troops beside him, on the other hand, were not as gifted in the arts of battle as he was, and soon, he realised that the other detachments have begun to buckle under the weight of the free folk horde.

"Look out, lads! BRACE FOR IMPACT!" Someone shouted. Kruber swiftly beheaded the raider he was facing down and turned to the side, just in time to witness a mass of wildling chariots made out of wood and bone smashing themselves into the weakened sections of the Imperial battle line, sending unfortunate soldiers flying and scattering the rest.

"Frozen Shore cunts!" Massive chest heaving, Tormund wiped blood from his face. "Kill them! Pluck out their eyes! String them up on their guts!" He vented his rage on the nearest loyalist wildling, gruesomely disembowelling her with his scavenged Night's Watch blade.

Kruber, knowing that the troops under his command were too far to render aid to the compromised Imperial line, could only mutter a short prayer for the dead and trusted on others to do what his people could not. To his relief, his hopes were not in vain and his answers were eventually answered in the form of the arrival of Graf Boris Todbringer and his men, supported by squadrons of Bretonnian knights and mounted yeomen.

"To me, men of Ulric!" The elector count of Middenland bellowed as he led his people into the fray, cutting off the overextended charioteers and their escorts. Around him, his personal retinue of full-grown direwolves formed a ring of fur and teeth around their master. "For Middenheim! FOR THE EMPIRE!"

The men cheered at the sight of the jolly graf and his troops, who proceeded to wedge themselves deep into the free folk ranks before beginning their rampage, using the shock their sudden arrival generated to indiscriminately hew and hack apart any raider within reach. As for the Bretonnians, they rode past the Middenlanders to reinforce Kruber's side of the line, trampling and impaling any loyalist wildling in their way.

Receiving much-needed help gave Kruber a second wind. After sweeping a spearwife's legs out from under her and impaling her while she's down, the captain rallied his people to battle once more.

"ALL TOGETHER!" He screamed, taking the first step towards the foe.

* * *

 **End of Chapter VII - 2**

* * *

 _One last row 'till I rest._


End file.
